


the owl and the eagle

by nishiki



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AltMal, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputation, Human Trafficking, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Modern AU, Modern Assassins, Modern slavery, Terrorism, Torture, abbas being the usual dick, dad!Malik, ex-soldier Malik, political refugee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 101,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaїr is a political refugee who fled from Syria to the United States hoping to start a new life in the land of freedom and liberty, after his family was brutally murdered by terrorists in the streets. Malik is a retired soldier, returned home from war in Syria just so he could raise his little son after his wife's death with the help of his younger brother, who is caught in hatred for the injustice he sees every day in the news. So his way meets Altaїr's, when he finds the boy in the streets begging for coins, just another victim of Talal, just another victim of human trafficking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that I won't offend anyone by writing this story. Please keep in mind that english isn't my frst language, so please notify me if I made mistakes. I really like to learn and get better with this

He would never forget the smell and those noises. He would never forget the pent-up feeling. He would never forget the whining and sobbing around him, the growling stomachs and the small whimpering in the night. He would never forget the rocking of the boat from right to left, from left to right, _up-and-down-and-up-and-down_ and he would never forget being thrust against the wall of the small container with every violent wave that let him fear for his life. He would never forget the sight of all those people around him, all gathered in that container on that boat, all with fear in their eyes, all hungry and desperate. Some of them hadn’t eaten for days prior to the beginning of their journey just like Altaїr and he could see the gloomy looks of the men around him, men ready to do anything that needed to be done in order to live, ready to kill to eat. Men ready to bite into the legs of their brothers in order to survive, to rape and hurt just for the sake of raping and hurting.

He hadn’t enough space to sit down on the ground, so he kept staying on his frail legs for days and days and sometimes it would be just the bodies of the other passengers around him that would hold him upright. After two days the smell was unbearable. The stench of urine and sweat burned in his nostrils and a few days after that it mingled with the smell of crap and vomit. Just hours after the beginning of his journey he felt dizzy and weak, desperate for water or something to eat, desperate to shutting his eyes and ears to not see and hear anymore. He couldn’t stand the sight of the small children between the adults or forced into the corners of the container. In reality, he had no clue how much time really passed. It could’ve been days, it could’ve been weeks, it could’ve been months. The hunger and the thirst, the heat, the smell and the noise drove him insane, slowly – _oh so slowly_ \- and cruelly.

Soon it wasn’t the sight of the hungry and weak children that he couldn’t stand anymore or the stench of crap and urine and vomit or sweat. Soon it would be the smell of slowly rotting corpses between the pent-up people that would just be held upright by all their bodies pressed together. Altaїr had known the stench of blood and death his whole life, he knew the sweet smell of decay, but now he couldn’t flee. He was helpless and lost in the middle of an ocean of rotting corpses and completely at mercy of the raging sea all around the small boat.

Would he be here if he had known how hellish this journey would be? Would he have set foot onto that rocking boat in the port of Latakia if he had known that he would starve or die of thirst during the journey into a new life? Probably. He was just like every other person on this boat. He was just as desperate as the woman next to him when he finally ( _finally)_ rested his head against her thin, shaking shoulder and closed his eyes to sleep. They were desperate. They were hungry. They were alone. And they were sentenced to death. They were sentenced to either die by the hand of the men they fled from or to die among another on a dirty, small boat fighting its way through storms and heavy sea.

Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad didn’t know how long this journey took him and he didn't know when it would end when he drifted off to sleep, his stomach just a growling, hurting thing under thin, sweaty hot skin, his brain just a clump of fever in his skull. He didn’t even know if he would open his eyes ever again, now that he closed them or if he would ever set foot into that so-called land of freedom and liberty. He was just another desperate, stupid soul on a boat full of desperate stupid souls and he would be one of the poor people that would die next to the woman he leaned on, surrounded by water and he knew that they would throw his corpse over the railing when they would find him between the vomit and the urine and the rot and the crap and all those other starving bodies.

At least the woman next to him laid her thin arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, rested her other hand on his head and her voice was just a soft murmur in his deaf ears. She smelled of sweat and excrements just like him. She was weak, just like him and he didn’t even know her name when he relaxed in her loving embrace, but she knew he was dying and at that very moment, she was the angel he needed to guide him calmly into deaths embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

_When the metal doors were opened, there was not the expected panic from inside or the expected run for the door, for air and for freedom. No. when the door was opened for the first time after two weeks there was only silence and the smell of rot and decay, only the stench of death and excrements and sickness and sweat. It was not new for the men on those boats, but every time it was a nightmare and a whole new shade in the color-palette of horror. This time they began removing the bodies closest to the door first. There were a little girl and a woman already half decayed who seemed to be two of the first dead during the journey. The girl was very much likely simply crushed to death between all those people or suffocated. They had known right from the start that there were too many people in this one, but they closed and locked the doors nonetheless._

_It was a hideous task to remove the dead bodies and threw them unceremoniously over the rail and into the forgiving embrace of the ocean, which would clean those poor souls from their sins and grief and pain. There were only a few living people left, only a slight movement every now and then or dizzily blinking eyes between dirt and rot. Most of the few that were still alive would not make it through the next week because of fever and infections. They were sick and starved and dehydrated. The men on the boat knew that some of the desperate tried to drink their own piss in order to survive (just a few hours longer, just a few days longer, just … longer) while they were sitting in their coach chatting and eating without sparing those poor souls on their boat a second thought. When they finally reached the left sidewall of the container  the space was already half cleared, but nearly two hours had already passed since their arrival at Boston and their employer demanded his delivery. There was woman cowering with the back to the wall, slumped down after they began clearing the container and freeing them all from the pressure that let them stood upright for the past days and weeks. She held a young man in her arms like a mother would hold a child, but the woman seemed just as dead as that poor bastard in her arms. Well, at least the guy had not been alone when he died, a small comfort, but maybe a comfort nonetheless._

_They grabbed the woman by her right ankle and dragged her with them to throw her overboard, then they grabbed the young man just like this, but when the sailors dragged him over the wooden planks and out into the fresh air of the night, suddenly there was a gasp of breath, suddenly there were amber eyes flashing open again, suddenly there was life in that half dead body again._

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 _Hunger_. That was all Altaїr could think about. Hunger, hunger, hunger, while he sat on the cold pavement between the shops. He did not even need to appear sick and hungry. The cold winter was eating away at his body and limbs, at his pale, thin fingers. At least it was not snowing this time but that made it hardly any better. If it would be snowing right now then people would pity him maybe a little bit more. By now, he was used to getting shooed away from the shop-owners in that small shopping street and he remembered _fondly_ how one time an elderly lady had tried to hit him with a broom like a dirty rat in her kitchen. Well, he really could not hold it against them. He would do the very same thing if he would be in their shoes. He was not angry with those people when they would attack him, he would just stand up mutter an apology and search a new spot to sit. What he did not like at all was when they would yell at him. There was no reason for being rude like that and other than this he mostly had a hard time understanding them anyway.

He knew English, that was not so much the problem. He had learned the language of the enemy when he was still in school, but it was something very different when you leave for a foreign country and actually have to use this language in daily life. For now, he learned only how to say _"Please"_ and _"Need change for food"_ or _"kid sick"_ or _"wife sick"_. Those were the things people like him learned after surviving the long journey across the seas. This was their reward. Maybe he had been naïve choosing his path to the US and not to Europe like most other refugees he seen in the past. Maybe he should have tried to flee to Turkey or another Arabic speaking country, at least then he would understand the people when they would yell at him. However, when he fled he only wanted to have as much water between him and the men that searched for him as possible.

And now he sat here.

His flight ended almost a year ago in Boston Harbor in the middle of one stormy night, when the doors of the iron container opened with a loud and shrill creak and fresh air poured inside for the first time in … a long time. Altaїr still did not know how long they had been out there on the ocean and he did not even want to know. He did not want to ever think about that journey ever again. He wanted to forget, that was all.

Now he was here in the US, America, the land of the free, but he was not free and he had no money, no food, no home, no expectations to ever find a job and no hope to become something different from one of Talal's many, many victims or to be ever something different from a slave. His only hope today was to beg for enough money so he could to satisfy his daily quota so he would not get punished again. He had seen what was happening to those who could not satisfy Talal, he had seen what this man did to them. The luckiest of them would just be killed and thrown into the ocean and vanish like they never existed, but those who were much more unfortunate and who would be _pretty_ enough would just be sent away to those houses near the docks no matter the gender, where strangers would pay money to do whatever they pleased to do. It would not be the first time that Talal would threaten him with this fate. It was either that or they would cut off one of his legs (or maybe both) so he would earn himself more pity by those normal people (if it would not work they could still put him into one of those establishments, because the men would not really care if the hole they were fucking had legs or not). Maybe he should have stayed in Syria because this country had only suffering and fear for him to offer. Maybe a quick death would have been better than this.

He would have laughed his bony ass off if someone had told him five years ago what would become of him. He was not dumb, no quite the contrary. He was a well-educated young man, he had visited college, he was born into a well-respected family with money and with people who liked them and then the whole word - the whole fucking country - had turned to shit and now he was here, sitting on dirty pavement in dirty clothes, smelling like the beggar he was and was afraid of being picked up tonight without having enough money begged or stolen.

It was not right like that. Life was not right like that. The world was not right like that.

It was quiet for now in the small shopping street although it was already late afternoon and Altaїr had no hope there would be another generous donor for him. He did not want to visit soup kitchen again to steal from the other homeless people or try it by the normal people with a good chance of getting caught - again. There were steps not so very far away hurrying his way. It was too early for Talal and the steps were too light-footed, so Altaїr stayed where he was, kneeling on the hard pavement, his head bent and his hands cupped outstretched before him. He hated to speak to the people directly; he hated to be looked at like dirt under their shoes. He much rather said nothing and hoped they would pity him enough to give him their spare change.

He kept his eyes on the ground like Talal taught him, but then again he glanced up a little bit. There was a man hurrying this way, dressed in a dark suit and coat with polished, black leather shoes and a briefcase under his right arm. He wore a blue scarf that would look ugly on a white man, but his skin was sun-kissed even in that time of the year and the tip of his nose a little bit red because of the cold. He had black hair, a little messy from the wind and a black goatee decorating his chin nicely. He did not even look at him, not for one second. It was just this split second when Altaїr decided to speak to him in Arabic, hoping he had made the right guess. He just had this one chance and he was going to use it.

"Please, do you have any spare coins, Sir? My family is sick and hungry."

The stranger knew just as well as Altaїr knew that he was alone and that he did not have a family, but that he himself was sick and hungry. Altaїr noticed how the man stopped by the seemingly familiar sound of the language Altaїr used and how he then grabbed his briefcase tighter and flashed him a small glance from dark eyes. Altaїr did not know exactly what it was that let the person stop for just this one second to look at him and maybe he would never really know.

"Maybe this works in conflict areas but not in this country where you could simply apply for welfare. Go to the authorities and ask them for spare coins instead of sitting here on your lazy ass." After this, the guy walked on and Altaїr wished he had just ignored him.

"Arrogant asshole." Altaїr muttered under his breath when he watched him walking away.

It was not exactly a great feeling when one was ignored by the _normal_ people around, but it was even harder when they would taunt you or belittle you. He hated advice like this. He knew that he could apply for welfare. He could, could not he? Well, on the other hand, he was not a citizen of the US, he had not even his documents to proof who he was. There had been times during that last year when he even forgot his own name. After they arrived in Boston and were released from the container he had not known who he was or where or even why. All was just a blur and he had not even known if he should be glad to be still alive or if he rather had died in that container in peace. It took him a while before he remembered it all again and before he remembered the woman again who had held him in her arms. He never learned her name, but he knew she was dead.

He remembered how he had opened his eyes to a starry night sky and how his heart was suddenly thumping hard in his little, stupid chest and he remembered the sound of splashing when the bodies were thrown into the water. And then black again. Silence again. The woman had not been there when he woke up the next time and he knew that he had heard her body splashing into the black abyss of water without telling him who she was and why she comforted him when he thought he was dying. Maybe he had died. Maybe he actually was dead and this was the limbo or hell or whatever it was called. Maybe he had to wander around in this afterlife suffering for his sins and for his stupidity … for his arrogance, which brought him here in the first place.

The thought was a little bit funny, he could not deny that. Was not it somewhat ironic that he fled Syria and the impending death that awaited him there to possibly die on the sea or in the streets of a foreign country? It was funny, was not it? It must be a great comedy for he would despair if not. Of course, he could run away from Talal and his folks, of course, he could try and escape, but to where? Where should he run? Where should he hide? There was no place for people like him, no shelter to be found. Moreover, Talal did not show mercy with people who betrayed him. He would find Altaїr faster than he could run. He would hunt him down and then he would wish to never been born or to have never survived his flight from Syria.

He had seen what Talal did to traitors.

Altaїr was not a fearful man, he had never been and he did not want to become one, yet he was afraid. He feared for his life although it was not really a life worth living. He _existed_ and that was about it. He existed dependent on other people's mercy. He the great Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad was depended on other people's mercy. It was ridiculous.

The door of the shop to his right opened after Altaїr had seen the stranger from before vanishing behind a corner, then there was the shrill, and angry scream of a woman again, broom in hand. He would probably never understand what it was with those people that they thought they needed to shoe him away by the force of the almighty broom like a rat. After all, he still was a human being, even though he was dirty and smelled bad. He did not understand much of the yelling that came out of that old woman's mouth but he could at least understand the many racist comments she made. He was used to it by now. He could not blame the people. He was used to all the suspicion when people noticed the color of his skin, even though winter had made him pale. The terroristic attacks at New York years ago had made the people cruel and suspicious and angsty, not only in the US but also nearly everywhere in the world. However, those people that owned their little shops and living in their little houses really did not know anything about terror like the one he knew. He had seen all of terror's ugly face first hand. He had seen people getting beheaded right in the middle of a crowded street. He had heard bombs going off in the neighborhood. He had seen people die and he had heard children screaming in the night and mothers crying for their families and their husbands. He had seen girls, women, and children getting raped. He had seen men and boys getting raped and killed.

When the woman threatened him with her trusty broom, Altaїr backed off with a small apology leaving his dry lips and moved to a windier corner of the street. He sat down with a heavy sigh and started to watch the people that were bypassing him although there was not anything special about them other than their ridiculously white skin, but all of them ignored him and his very presence. Ignorance can be a blessing, but for him, it was merely a curse. He could die right here and now and no one would notice. He would be just another beggar dying from cold or starvation or thirst. He would be just another beggar who was too proud to visit the soup kitchen to get a warm meal. He would be just another alcoholic who wasted his life and did not deserve their mercy or pity.

It was colder in this corner of the street, now that he was not shielded so much as before between two shops from the heavy wind that blew down the street and told stories of the upcoming blizzard that was announced in the news. He had heard people talking about it - at least he was pretty sure that they talked about an upcoming blizzard. Talal would not tell them about something like this. They all would sit outside nonetheless.

At one point, there was an elderly lady, short and small with gray hair around a thick, round, wrinkled face with red cheeks and a friendly smile. Her clothes were mismatched in color and pattern, checkered with stripes and dots and she held her little brown handbag tightly pressed against her fragile body. She walked hunched over, but she would not use a walking stick. Instead, she stopped when she saw him and Altaїr looked down ashamed and did not even know why he did it. That woman reminded him somewhat of his own grandmother. He left her in Syria over a year ago and he did not even know how she was. She had been ill when he left, probably she was dead already. He wanted to take her with him, this last piece of family, but she refused and Altaїr had her rather die in her own bed surrounded by friends than dying on this hideous journey and been thrown into the ocean. For now, he had nothing other than her memory to help him through every day and that needed to be enough even if it was not.

The old lady stepped closer and shortly after he felt the warm press of finger against his cold and shivering hands, then some coins that were softly placed into his fingers and when he looked up a friendly smile. "Hang on in there a little more, my boy." The woman said with a strong accent, which reminded Altaїr of home. It would be what his grandmother would have said to him. Maybe he was getting insane. "You'll see everything is going to be okay."

With that, she turned and left with small steps and Altaїr had no other chance to follow her with his bright amber eyes. "Thank you." He muttered hastily in broken English. He had been raised to be polite no matter the situation and this woman had shown him kindness, so he had to give her back the exact same thing. When she vanished behind a corner, he felt even more lost and empty. It was the first friendly encounter he experienced since he sat foot in this country and he was pretty sure he just imagined it - well he would have if it were not for the glistening coins in his fingers. Still, he had not even nearly enough money for Talal. He expected twenty dollars by the end of this day an impossible amount of money for a beggar on the street that refrained from stealing.

The people were right to not giving people like him some coins so they would not support people like Talal. However, it was not Talal who was the bereaved in this situation, it was people like him. It was the people who would not get something to eat if they had not earned enough money or that were punished and threatened severely.

"Look Dad! This man must be freezing!"

Altaїr looked up when he heard the familiar language sounding in the small street and spotted a little boy walking at the hand of his father, his red mittens a hard contrast to his father's black glove and black coat and suit. Altaїr wished he had gloves like this. His fingers were hurting from the cold so badly he thought they would just fall off and his lean shoulders were shaking uncontrollably by now. However, Altaїr devoured every detail of the sound of this boy's voice and the sound of his mother tongue every time he got to hear it. There was this short feeling of familiarity and belonging when he heard Arabic somewhere outside the warehouse. He just smiled at the child, even when his father moaned and pulled at his little hand.

"Come on Tazim, it's cold." The man replied without even looking at Altaїr again, even if he had done it before and the boy followed.

If Altaїr had not spent so much attention to the man and his child, he would have noticed the shop owner of the shop he was sitting in front of, when he stomped out of his establishment and kicked his heavy boot against Altaїr's shoulder so he lost balance.

There was a loud jingle when the coins in his hand fell to the ground and scattered around the pavement. Of course, he grabbed for them immediately, but the heavy foot of the bald shop-owner stomped down on his cold, shivering hand. "Piss off you fucking piece of shit or I'll call the cops!"

Only a small whimper escaped Altaїr's dry lips when the pain in his hand was nearly too much to bear, but he did not protest. No. he knew that protesting would just make it worse and he hated it. He was nothing like the man he had left behind in Syria anymore. He was just a beaten, battered, fearful, pathetic little wuss. It was sad that he was used to getting treated like this by now. Of course, his hand hurt, of course, he felt ashamed that he was crawling on the dirty ground to comb for his begged coins and that he would let people treat him like an animal, but what Talal would do to him was worse than this.

The shop owner grabbed his collar and pulled him up. Altaїr did not even waste the effort to brace himself for the punch that soon was to be followed by this, but when the man raised his fist at him, there was another hand, dressed in thick, black leather gloves, that held the angry man back. "Excuse me, Sir, but I think you don’t really want to beat that man, am I right? Because if you do, then you would leave me no other choice than informing the nice police officer in the coffee shop next door about your crime. After all, I'm quite sure it is considered a crime beating a person who did nothing to harm you in the first place." The man from before - that father with the little boy - growled in perfect English. Yeah, he growled, but on his face was a friendly smile nonetheless. Well … no … friendly really was not the right word. There were teeth, yes, and the corners of his mouth were pulled up, yes, but it was more as if he was bearing his teeth at the shop-owner like a dog. Altaїr did not understand all he said, but the most of his words he understood.

The shop owner looked at the stranger and a few minutes could have passed while they just watched each other carefully. It was a duel of just eyes, but after a small, while the shop owner gave up, let go of Altaїr's old, dirty and torn jacket with a small snort before he spat on the ground, and nearly hit Altaїr's porous shoes. He muttered something under his breath that Altaїr did not understand, but the stranger sure did consider his change in face color from his usually sun-kissed tone to a somewhat red and angry one, but he did not say anything to the man that now wandered back to his shop cursing.

"Thank you." Altaїr murmured after they were alone - just him, the stranger and his little boy that still stood nearby and watched the scene with his big eyes. Blue. How interesting. Then Altaїr crouched down on the ground again to pick up his coins, although every movement of his finger hurt and because of the cold, he could not even feel much under his fingertips anymore. The knuckles on his right hand were bleeding where the shop owner had kicked him. Well, he had endured far worse than this. It clearly would not be the first time he had been beaten up in the middle of the street or in a small alleyway by coltish teenagers.

To his surprise, black gloved fingers helped him picking up the money and handing it to him so Altaїr could shove his earning into his pockets. His clothes were dirty and stank - well just like he probably. Talal made sure they looked miserable by tearing their clothes apart and ripping holes into them. They did not need to be dressed warm, they needed to bring money back home and they needed to be freezing and appearing miserable for this cause. Again, he muttered small thanks to the stranger, but the man grabbed him by his jacket (not so brutal like the bald shop owner before) and pulled him to his feet. "Come on boy." He said in Arabic again and pulled on his jacket so he would move.

Altaїr followed the guy and his son and he did not even know why. He pressed his injured hand to his chest and stumbled after the man to the nearby coffee shop that was mentioned before. Was he trying to get him to speak to the policeman sitting by the window? The little boy was the first to enter the shop with a huge grin and big, sparkling eyes. He seemed to be familiar with this place like he and his father were often here to drink coffee and cocoa together, probably when his father picked him up from Kindergarten. The boy could not be much older than four years and he made a beeline to a table by the window immediately. People looked at Altaїr puzzled and suspicious when the stranger pulled him in. It smelled good in here. It smelled like coffee beans and sugar and it was warm, so warm in fact, his cold fingers started tingling immediately from the change in temperature. The pain when your limbs getting warm again were probably the worst.

There really was a police officer sitting by the window, but he did not even look at Altaїr and shoved his donut into his mouth when the stranger directed Altaїr towards the table where Tazim - the little boy - sat. Altaїr followed the wordless instruction when he sat down at the table, well aware that the stranger would keep an eye on him, while he went to the counter. The little boy looked at him, he studied him really. He had black hair under his little red hat and dark blue eyes. His skin was a little lighter than his father's but the color of his eyes nonetheless unique. "I'm Tazim." The boy then introduced himself in Arabic.

"I'm Altaїr. Nice to meet you, Tazim." He replied. Altaїr was still confused. He had no clue what was happening to him right now sitting in that coffee shop. After this, it did not take long before Tazim began to tell him about Kindergarten. He was a cheerful little guy and very openhearted. He did not care much about Altaїr's looks, nor about his smell, nor that he really needed a shave. He saw a human being in the beggar and that was something really only a child his age could muster. "And then Shaun and Desmond said I needed to play the Indian again because of my skin color." Tazim complained. "Desmond and Shaun have it good; they take turns who plays the Sherriff and who the gangster when we play outside."

Altaїr wanted to say how it was not nice of his friends to treat him like that because of his probably darker skin color, but then again Tazim was a small child and so were his friends. They probably did not mean it to be mean and it certainly was not his duty to lecture them or Tazim, so he just smiled at the stories of Tazim's adventures in Kindergarten until his father came back and brought a tray with three mugs a sandwich and a cupcake with him. When the man sat down on the last three chairs by the table and placed the trail between them on the tabletop, he also handed Altaїr his change. He made a grimace when he looked up at him next time. "No need for that…" He mumbled although it was a blatant lie.

The man only flashed him a gloomy look and even the little Tazim (who already shoved the cupcake into his greedy face) stopped chewing for a moment. The man only shoved the sandwich towards him and then placed a mug with cocoa under his nose. "Well, I believe we both know it is." The man said and gestured again to the mug in front of Altaїr and the sandwich (which smelled so delicious his mouth watered already. When had he eaten the last time?) "Eat, drink, warm up and don’t even dare to decline my gracious offer." He sipped on his coffee and leaned back into his chair, but kept watching him with sharp eyes - very much like a hawk. Altaїr remained immovable on his spot. Oh, how he wanted to eat, drink, and warm his cold, sore fingers with holding the warm mug!

However, it was not just the father who watched him carefully. "Don’t you have a home?" The little Tazim asked with chocolate stained mouth after he wolfed down his cupcake. "Where are your Mummy and Daddy?"

Finally, he grabbed his mug and closed his fingers around the ceramic and the warmth was burning into his skin like raging flames. He hated alms, even though that was the purpose of him being on the streets and begging for money. He nearly forgot how much he loved sweets and chocolate after all those years he had bigger worries than chocolate, but now when he finally sipped at his cocoa it was like a little explosion in his mouth again. "No, I don’t." He answered Tazim then, after a small look to the boy's father. "My Mummy and Daddy aren't with me anymore."

He noticed how big the blue eyes of the boy grew, but he just smiled at this. "I did not know. I'm sorry." The little boy simply said and never in his life was an apology more earnest and truthful. Being around children was refreshing, he could not deny that but he was glad nonetheless that there were no children around in the warehouse. He could not stand being around children under those circumstances and he could not bear hearing them scream or cry anymore. It was enough that those cries followed him in his sleep and filled his dreams. He never saw what happened to those few kids on board of the ship, but since he was the only one who survived this hellish trip and the aftermath of sickness and pain and infection and fever, he could very well imagine what happened. He still remembered the smell lingering in the air. Chances were good that he would never forget.

"It's okay little guy." He finally said before he took the first bite of the sandwich. It tasted like heaven. Tuna and mayonnaise and fresh salad and dark, rich whole-grain bread and heaven. If he would be alone right now and here, he would cry just because of the taste of this sandwich. It was even better than the taste of the hot cocoa and the cream on top. For a second he thought he had seen a small grin on the face of Tazim's father just as if he would know what he thought. It really did cost him all his self-control to not wolf the sandwich down like a starving animal.

"But … where are you living? I mean you must sleep somewhere right?"

It really was not easy to talk about this with really anyone, but then again he was used to it by now, was not he? It was already a year. The pain was only a dull burning sensation in his guts every now and then. "Well, there is a friend who let me sleep at his place sometimes." At least there was no need to tell the boy's father what kind of friend this was, but Tazim was still too young to understand such things. He did not know what human trafficking was or what a slave trader was. He should not know such things and he should not need to think about such things. Tazim seemed satisfied with that answer. It only was a few more minutes until Tazim finished his cocoa and Malik his coffee and before the man spoke again. Until now, he had not asked Altaїr a single question but why would he? It was not as if he did not know what kind of life he was living and there really was no question he could ask him in front of his child. Other than this, it was not as they were going to be friends and this man was not his glorious hero and savior. He just had this merciful moment and tried to do something good to a beggar on the street because his child had to see how he was mistreated by that shop-owner.

"Tazim we need to go home now." The man then spoke up again and Tazim nodded.

"Can he come with us?" Tazim pointed at Altaїr, but his father shook his head.

"That's not possible buddy, his friend would worry." Now Tazim looked at Altaїr as if he would persuade his father, but Altaїr only smiled.

"Yeah that's right, he would be worried sick if I would not come home. But I'm sure we'll see us again." Maybe it would be better if not. He could not afford _friends_ in the normal world not when he would never be part of the normal world again. Talal would never free him that much was certain and fleeing was just not on the list of options.

Malik and Tazim were the first to stand up again, but before they left Malik turned to him again. "You should search for a better place to sit next time. I've heard the old woman at the end of the street next to the antique shop is friendlier towards people like you." He watched how the man cleaned his son's sticky hand with a tissue before he helped him into his gloves again. Tazim waved at him and the man only gave him a curt nod before they left the shop.

Altaїr waited a moment for he did not want to meet them outside the coffee shop again so Tazim would go with his dad without making a fuss, but when he noticed again the looks he got from the employees, he stood up from his seat. It was this moment when he noticed the envelope on the ground. He registered how one of the baristas walked towards him and so he hurried to pick up the envelope and left the shop. Not until he was outside on the street, he looked down at the envelope and read the name of the recipient. _Kadar Al-Sayf_. The man must have lost this letter on his way out. So that was his name. _Kadar_. Well it did not suit him, but who was he to judge people and their names at least this man's last name did not said _son of no one_ \- Altaїr was bullied because of this his whole life but now it was more of an heirloom of his late father for him and he wore this name with pride, also it was ironically fitting now that he was all alone, was not it?

He would have mused about those things if it were not for the snow that started falling from the sky again. It was already late judging by the sun that was slowly sinking on the horizon. In an hour or maybe two, Talal would come to pick him up again and he still had not earned nearly enough money today. Again, he looked down at the letter. It looked important. Next to the stamp, there was a small insignia. Was that… yeah, it read _Harvard_. It really did. This Kadar-guy was way too old to be a student. He could not just keep the letter to himself or wait until he would see him again _if_ he would see him again, and he could not just throw it again into a mailbox. He felt like he was in Kadar's debt after he took him to a warm place, gave him to eat and to drink and defended him in front of this bald guy.

So he sighed and started to move again. The man and his son already were out of sight. Of course, they were. By now, he knew the streets of Boston and he knew that the address was not so far off from this place. Still, he got lost a few times on his way to the address and when he finally found the right house, the sun already nearly vanished to let her brother take over for the night. He had not much time left until Talal would pick him up. He better tried to be on time when he did not want to be punished.

For a moment, he just stood in front of the house and just watched it. It really was not that special, just a mediocre townhouse next to another in a quiet part of Boston. Not in the suburbs of the big city but aside enough to have a nice and trusty neighborhood, to have a small shopping area nearby (the one where Altaїr _worked_ this week) and the Kindergarten for his son reachable by foot how it seemed. This was the dream. Well, not essentially _his_ dream because he would be happy enough with a small flat for himself and a job and enough money to feed himself, but he guessed this would be the dream of a normal person like this Kadar and he probably worked hard for this two-story house with the garage and the driveway and this small front yard. It was nice … really nice and it fitted into his somewhat white-breaded-looks.

Then he took a deep breath and slowly (and quietly), he walked up the three small steps to the front porch of the house. There was light in two of the windows facing the street. Probably kitchen and living room. By the door, he stopped for just a second and compared the name on the letter with the one on the doorbell. There it was: _Al-Sayf_. Should he ring? Maybe it was for the better to just push the letter under the door. He did not want him to think of him as a crazy stalker and other than this, he was in a hurry to find his way back so Talal would not get suspicious.

Yeah, that was the best he could do, so he crouched down and started to push the letter through the small gap between door and threshold just when the door suddenly was opened in front of his nose. Altaїr had no time to jump to his feet in shock; he could only look up to the man in front of him. There he was again, not dressed in hit dark suit anymore but it was still the same guy with his black hair and goatee and his nearly black eyes, with glasses stuck to his face, an old sweatshirt and jeans. He looked _normal_ and that startled him just all the more.

After a small moment of surprise, Altaїr finally managed to get up again and shoved the letter against the man's wide chest. "Y-You lost this at the Starbucks." He stuttered. Altaїr was no stutterer (well he was but this was back when he was still a child), but now he did. He did stutter and he did not know why. He felt his cold cheeks growing hot, probably because of surprise and because he was caught in his actions.

Kadar - the guy - looked at him a little puzzled, then to the letter, before he took it. Altaїr already fled down the steps again as if he was chased by hounds when the man finally found his voice. "Please come inside. Dinner is ready any minute now; we have more than enough to feed another hungry mouth."

This caught him by surprise, so much in fact, that he nearly stumbled on the freshly fallen snow. His stomach growled like an angry beast even though he had a sandwich not even an hour ago! Greedy bastard. He really wanted to accept the kind offer. He yearned for some homemade dinner, for something warm and fresh to eat, but he knew that he simply could not do it, not with Talal hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles. "N-No" - Again with the stuttering! - "Really. It's okay. I just wanted to deliver the letter, it looked important. I need to go now."

It was then when he heard the little voice of Tazim again. "Altaїr!" He exclaimed happily. Really, what was wrong with that child that he was so happy to see a homeless guy? He was way too trusty! "Are you here to join us for dinner? Dad made filled Pide!" Before he even knew what was happening to him he felt the little children's hands at his arm. Tazim had made it passed his father who still stood in the door of his home with a deep frown on his face because of his son's actions. The boy only wore his slippers when he pulled at Altaїr's arm to drag him up the stairs again. There was no way at all to escape the boy and he did not even wait for an answer.

"Apparently I am.", Altaїr managed to chuckle finally when he was at the door again. Tazim dragged him into the home and his father really had no other choice than stepping out of the way, but Altaїr caught him smirking and he caught himself smirking as well. He really had not met someone as refreshing and honest as Tazim in a very long time.

"Tazim go wash your hands and take … _Altaїr_ … with you." Tazim's father chuckled before he closed the door to shut out the cold winter air. He nearly forgot that Talal would pick him up and that it was going to be hell on earth if he would not be there, but in front of the child, he could not tell his father and Tazim would not understand why he suddenly escaped the house and he would be disappointed. Altaїr did not like to disappoint children although he should rather be worried on behalf of his own skin.

He followed the boy nonetheless and he felt incredibly dirty as soon as they entered the small toilet downstairs to wash their hands. It was the first time in a long while that he was confronted with his own reflection in the mirror. A pale, unwashed man stared back at him with a beard that really needed trimming and hair that really needed a cut. Sometimes one of the few women in the warehouse would manage to get a pair of rusty and blunt scissors and would cut his hair if he would ask them, but it was a rare occasion. He looked much older like this and he wanted nothing more than getting a razor and shaving his face clean again and taking a long hot shower to feel like a human being at last. The only washing he got nowadays was when Talal's handymen would pour a bucket filled with cold water over his head.

Altaїr always liked to groom himself when he still had the chance back home for his father had taught him how important a clean and cultivated appearance was in life. His father would not be proud at him of all if he could see him like this, he probably would not be proud that his own son fled the country he loved so much and for which protection he died. However, what other choice had he had back then?

"You're really slow." Tazim criticized at his side and just now Altaїr remembered his task and that he had let the water simply pour down his now clean hands for a few moments. He hurried to turn the faucet off und smiles at the boy.

"Sorry.", he muttered in broken English, but the boy did not seem to mind when he again grabbed his hand to drag him back into the hallway and then into the kitchen where the table was already neatly dressed and another young man sat on one of the chairs. Blue eyes – the same blue eyes that Tazim possessed – looked up at the beggar and the young boy made a terrible grimace. He was too old to be Kadar's son or likewise Kadar was too young to have a son this age. The boy already was a teenager, lean and probably shorter than Altaїr if he would stand right next to him, sixteen or seventeen at the most.

There was no woman joining them for dinner and there were only four chairs. Maybe the Mrs. was still at work and married Kadar must be because Altaїr already spotted the wedding band on his left hand and he noticed one or two wedding pictures in the hallway, which showed Kadar and his wife. She would not be glad to see a beggar like him in her house, that was for sure and Altaїr would not hold it against her and he did not hold it against this boy how he was looking at him. There was disgust and disbelieve written all over his face when Tazim dragged him to a chair opposite of the teenager with the sink on its back.

Altaїr narrowed his eyes just a little when he sat down, but Kadar who was serving the meal in this moment only smiled at him as if he was a regular dinner guest in this house. There was this slight familiarity when he looked at Kadar's face now, which he had not noticed earlier, but now it was all the more present. He had the distinct feeling of knowing that man already or at least his face, but he put the thoughts aside. Maybe he just had seen him already in the shopping area where he sometimes sat to beg.

Altaїr noticed the uncomfortable stare of the younger boy but right in that moment when he opened his mouth to speak, Kadar shoved the envelope at him and grinned. The boy looked down at the letter for a moment and scanned the recipient's name, then his eyes went to the insignia next to the post-stamp, then his eyes grew huge like plates and the boy ripped open Kadar's letter. Altaїr was confused when the boy finally jumped up from his chair after scanning the letter swiftly with his eyes.

" _No way!_ " He exclaimed in a huff of breath. "No way! No freaking way!" His voice grew louder and Kadar's grin next to Altaїr wider. "They accepted me! Malik! They accepted me! I'll go to Harvard!"

So, Malik, it was. Not Kadar. The name suited the man next to Altaїr better. "Yes, you will." He chuckled softly and there was pride in his dark brown eyes when he watched the younger boy. "You should thank this man, for I lost your letter and he brought it back to me."

Altaїr felt his cheeks grew hot when Kadar looked at him and reached over the table to grab his hand and gave it a nearly violent shake. "Thank you, man! I would be totally fu-" - A small harrumph reminded the teen of the presence of a child at the table - " _sad_ if I had not got it! Thank you a lot! I'm Kadar by the way."

Altaїr could not help but smirk a little even when his beard probably swallowed the expression. He really needed to do something about this. No wonder no one would give him any spare coins. "Altaїr." He finally introduced himself to the boy and to Malik, although the man already knew his name from his son who yelled his name only minutes ago. Kadar made no move to sit down again; he just looked at the letter and held it tight in his shaking fingers. "Man … I can't eat right now Malik! Sorry! I need to tell my friends right away!" And with that, the boy fled the kitchen, shortly followed by stomping steps on the stairs in the hallway.

"I'm glad I could help." Altaїr chuckled at Malik before the man gestured him to eat while Tazim already wolfed down his dinner with a huge smile on his face. Altaїr did not know exactly if the boy was smiling like this because of the good news or because he sat here with them. He seemed to like Altaїr, that was certain but the beggar had no clue why.

"Yeah … my brother really worked hard for this during the last years of High-School. He really deserved this. Thank you for bringing back the letter."

"That was no big deal." He assured Malik, but the man shook his head and patted his shoulder.

"Yes, it was. Most people would have just thrown it away or put it in the next letterbox or would simply ignore it. You're a good guy, Altaїr."

Altaїr wanted to say that he was not a good guy, that he had done things he was not proud of and that Malik was too open and too naïve to trust him like this and to let him into his home where his little son and his brother were living. He could be an axe-murderer for all Malik knew! Still, Altaїr smiled a little – maybe even a little bit ashamed. They ate in silence after this only for Tazim to talk about Kindergarten and his friends again. It was nice listening to the child blabbering although Altaїr was not really a children's guy. He never expected to have one himself and he was no one who would make faces at kids to cheer them up, but he liked Tazim very much.

He was an open-hearted kid anyway too trusty.

After Tazim was allowed to go play again in his room, only Malik and Altaїr were left behind in the kitchen and of course, Altaїr helped Malik doing the dishes and avoided a look to the watch above the kitchen door. He was late. He would not make it in time anymore to avoid being punished tonight so he could at least delay the punishment a little more.

"So" Malik began finally while he handed Altaїr the first wet plate to towel it and did not seem to be bothered at all by his smell. "You're from Syria right?"

"How do you know?" Altaїr asked while toweling the plate and putting it aside only to receive the next.

"Your accent." He answered handing him the next wet plate. It felt like they did this for years and years as if they were already a sworn team back in another life maybe.

"You're from Syria yourself?"

"Yeah, born in Masyaf, but raised in the US after my parents took the chance to leave the country, that was before shit has gone down there." Altaїr raised a brow, but he did not say something like ' _Wow! I was born in Masyaf too!'_ like normal people would. It was not important and they were not friends. He would probably never see Malik again after tonight, so why should he bond with him more than necessary, but the next really took him by surprise. "So tell me … How did you become a victim of human trafficking? You don’t seem dumb, Altaїr."

He felt his dark eyes fixating his face when he toweled the next plate, but he did not take his eyes from his task to look at him. Of course, Malik was no stupid man and he probably knew right from the start that Altaїr was not begging in the cold streets because of his own free will. Unlike Tazim, a man like Malik knew the stories in the news and he knew the reality. Therefore, there really was no use in denying the truth or trying to play it off.

"Well, I guess like everyone else. I needed to leave Syria." He mumbled with a small smile although it lacked humor. "I guess I was much more stupid than I thought back then. I thought I would know better than everyone else would and I did not think that I would fell into the hands of those people. I guess my arrogance blinded me, I thought myself invincible."

"You weren't stupid, just naïve enough to fall for the false hopes they promised." Malik's voice was calm when they finally finished washing the dishes as if they were talking about the weather. "Do you wanna get out?"

Altaїr chuckled. The question was legitimate, although probably no one in Altaїr's position would deny getting out of this mess. "Of course." Altaїr mumbled and finally met Malik's gaze. "But you only escape as a body floating in the river or as an anonymous organ donor." Altaїr had seen stuff like this during the last year. He had already seen the bathtubs filled with ice and the lifeless bodies inside, ripped apart for the sake of getting their organs. They were nothing more than livestock for someone like Talal. "No matter how far you run, Talal finds you. It isn’t worth the risk."

"Freedom is worth every risk. I can't force you to go to the police with me and save not only yourself but all the other people as well, Altaїr." He tried to make him feel remorse, was not he? Clever trick, but it did not work with Altaїr that much. "You just need to be brave. They won't send a political refugee back to Syria and war and death."

It was not as if Altaїr would not know those things. He knew they would not just send him back home after he would help to blow up Talal and his people, but which chance of life would he have anyway? "I need to go now, Malik." Altaїr muttered finally and scratched at his left forearm without even noticing. He was nervous and frightened for the things that would await him tonight. He knew Talal waited until he would come or he already sent his men to search for him. Suddenly Malik grabbed his hand to stop him from scratching at his already red skin.

"How high is your quota?" He asked and Altaїr already missed the feeling of normality, which was caused by simply washing dished together with someone who felt like an old and long forgotten friend. He still could not grasp what it was about Malik. He probably would never know.

"Twenty bugs." He then replied quietly. It was not much really, at least not for someone like Malik who had a job and a life and money enough to live in a house like this, but for Altaїr it was an incredible amount of money. "He always asks for the impossible although he knows how the people are looking at people like me and that they don’t give more than a few cents most of the time." He bit his tongue before he could say what he wanted to say. He knew Talal just asked the impossible because he wanted to have an excuse for sending him away into one of those horrible houses by the docks.

For a long moment Malik just watched him with sharp eyes like a hawk would watch his bait, but then he reached for a cookie jar on the shelf above the sink, shoved his hand into the jar and pulled a hand full of coins out which he gently pushed into the pocket of Altaїr's jacket which the boy simply forgot to took off since he got here. "I don’t know how much it is, but it would be conspicuous if it were twenty bugs straight." Then he grabbed again for the shelf only to shove a small white business card into his pocket. "It's from a local food bank not far away from the shopping mile; just tell the guy you've stolen the money when you was there. Tell the guy some social worker dragged you there."

Altaїr was stunned just a little for Malik coming up with something like this and with helping him like this, giving him money to protect him from the beatings he would probably get. He would be late anyway and that would make Talal furious. "I can't accept this, Malik." He stammered. "Really! That's too much! You've given me already something to eat twice today, I can't accept this. Other than this, I'm not a good liar. I'm just the stupid guy that let himself get taken away by strangers and the promise of food."

Malik chuckled. "I did not take you, you came here yourself. You'll keep the money for your boss and I expect to see you tomorrow on the very same street like today." He said and nudged his shoulder. Altaїr stumbled a little but caught his balance fast. Malik was a muscular guy even if his sweatshirt hid his frame. He was strong and that was obvious. With that Altaїr finally nodded – What other choice did he have? He needed the money to delay his punishment just a little. Maybe it would not be as bad as it would be if he would not be just late but also without nearly enough money. He was in Malik's debt and he hated this feeling with passion.

After this, he finally left the house without saying goodbye to Tazim or Kadar. It was better like this. Malik would already have a hard time explaining to his little boy why the body in the newspaper that had been found in the river a few weeks from now looked like Altaїr. That was what would happen to him, right? He would end like everyone else in this hellhole of a warehouse. He could consider himself lucky if Talal would simply chain him to a workbench in a factory and would let him work until his fingers bled.

He hurried without looking back although he could feel Malik staring after him and his heart felt heavy when he left the street. It was not so much his fear for the beatings and Talal's aggression towards him, it was more the fear he maybe would not see that man ever again. It was ridiculous, it really was and Altaїr knew that by heart. He only met the guy and still, he got attached to him within just this short of a time, just by sitting at his side and talking with him just this little bit. He felt like he was leaving a brother behind as if he was leaving family behind, just as he felt when he set foot on this boat. Altaїr was certain he knew Malik. _He knew him_. However, he did not know why he could not shake off this feeling and this certainty when he ran as fast as his tired, thin legs could carry him towards his punishment.

Maybe he would find his answer someday in his sleep, probably he would not.

He could already see Talal by the corner of the street when he arrived at the now dark shopping mile and stopped gasping for breath in front of the man, his knee bent ever so slightly and his poor heart beating against his hurting ribcage. He thought back to the man he left behind in Syria, back to that sporty and fit young man, that ran across rooftops and jumped from high buildings, just he and his camera and the smug grin in his face like no one would ever be able to harm him, like he was above everything and everyone else.

The man stood in the shadows but Altaїr did not need to see his black eyes and his gloomy look or the silent gesture towards his black car to know that he was fucked. He was not above anyone else. He was just the dirt under Talal's freshly polished black leather shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can also find me one tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/niishiki  
> feel free to ask me any question you like!


	3. Chapter 3

_His feet felt heavier with every step he took and the sun burnt down on his head from a clear blue sky only shielded from the heat with the white hood of his hoodie. He felt like he walked for an eternity through deserts without hope of finding an oasis somewhere glistening in the distance. His throat was dry and he was terribly thirsty. He wanted to hide in the shadows of the city, but there was no chance for the soldiers patrolling through the small alleys between the houses and buildings. He needed to appear unsuspicious. He could not afford drawing attention to himself, not now, not here. He needed to get to his destination as fast as he could without being caught and without the soldiers looking twice at his face that were hidden in the shadows of his dirty white hood._

_For how long was he walking already? When had he left the last city? What was its name again? Where was he now? He forgot the name of this place already. It was not important. He knew the city and he had been here with his father before. He knew the way he needed to follow and he knew where it would lead him. He wanted nothing more than his grandmother's loving arms to hold him once again, maybe for the last time._

_He felt so incredibly dumb and stupid. He would not be in this situation if it were not for his own stupidity and arrogance. He thought he was so clever and now he had nothing but the clothes on his body and the feeling of thirst, exhaustion, and hunger. The eagle of Masyaf had jumped one time too often and then he fell helpless to the ground to shatter to pieces. There was no way of turning back now, no way to turn around and run back home, back to his beloved grandmother. He could only hope that she was well. If it had not been for this gracious and strong woman, he would not be here right now. If she had not told him that they were coming for him and endangered herself, he would not have made it out of Masyaf alive._

_There was a small fountain in the middle of a small round plaza between a row of three-story-houses with small balconies surrounding the plaza like a ring. He could see a few people standing on their balconies or chatting with each other across the gap between their flats and there were children playing on the plaza with a ball. The sight could easily cheat the reality. At the first look it was a warm summer day in some town in Syria on which women chatted with their neighbors from balcony to balcony while they took care of the laundry and on which children would play carefree on a sunny plaza during the heat of the noon, there were actually a few old man sitting on a bench talking with wide gestures and grey, grey beards, giving the scenery something idyllic. It was nice. A cat meowed on the narrow roof of the house Altaїr passed. He would've loved to sit in the shadow on the bench next to an old man, but then again there were large holes in the façade of one of the houses and bricks splattered with blood scattered on one side of the plaza and soldiers standing at one access point so they could overlook the scenery unfolding in front of Altaїr._

_Altaїr could feel their eyes on him when he slowly crept across the plaza. His destination was the fountain where many people needed to fill their buckets for cooking or laundry nowadays for the water supplies in their flats did not work anymore since the last bombing, just like the electricity or gas. The people living here were thrown back into the Middle Ages again as they were in many parts of the country by now. Yes, the women were chatting with each other, but they whispered so the guards would not hear them and yes the kids played on the streets outside because their houses were destroyed and dusty and yes the old men sat together and talked, but there was fear for their playing grandchildren and their chatting daughters in their grey and haggard faces. There was fear in the air and not the sweet smell of tea or spices. Like here, it was everywhere Altaїr went._

_He never knew his mother country any other way._

_When he had been a child, the fear seemed to be far away. It had been in the news and in the worry-lines of his father's forehead and in the wrinkles of his grandmother's lovely, round face, but he had not understood. He had not understood the concept of terror. Now that he was an adult the terror and the fear was everywhere around him and he still could not understand. Perhaps he would never understand the concept of hurting each other in the name of something that was written in an old book thousands and thousands of years ago._

_He stopped at the fountain. Altaїr did not hurry. Hurrying was suspicious because the people thought you were running away and why would you run away when guards were watching you? He waited patiently until an elderly woman was finished filling her small bucket before she retreated back to her destroyed home and then he cupped his hands under the stream of water splashing on the ground. The water was icy on his hot skin and it felt like heaven. He wasted a long moment just feeling the water as if he never felt it before until he lifted his hands to his mouth and sipped greedily to still his thirst. The looks of the soldiers were digging into his skin, but he was careful to stand with his back towards them so he could shield his face just enough. He knew they eyed him because of the western style of his clothes, but he really had not anything else. He was tempted to pull off his hood to shower his head with the cold-cold water, but he did not. He rather lifted his hands a few times more to his face to drink, but then he heard steps behind him and hastily backed away from the fountain. He should leave. He should not stay under the radar for too long._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the guards moving and cursed himself, but then he casually walked on. There was nothing wrong with drinking from a fountain in the heat of a day like this, was not it? Then there was a hand on the small of his back and Altaїr felt his heart stop in his chest. "Are you so desperate for getting killed?" The voice of a man grunted into his right ear but his hand shoved Altaїr gently into a small street that led deeper into the city away from the plaza and the guards. Altaїr did not dare to look over his shoulder to glance a look at the stranger, but his voice was familiar. He was lead into a small alley after they walked the street for a little while filled with uncomfortable silence. Then the man suddenly stopped and Altaїr found himself standing in front of a small wooden door in the shadows of the alley._

_"We've waited already for you for days now. What took you so long?! You can't stay, though.My wife– your aunt - won't allow it having a criminal in our home with all those guards around."_

_It was not until now that Altaїr finally could look at the man. He was tall and had darker skin than Altaїr himself with a dark beard framing his jaw and deep brown eyes. His black hair was a little longer than usual worn by a Syrian man and when Altaїr finally looked at him his Uncle Yusuf smiled fondly, opened the door for him and lead him inside._

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The black Mercedes held at the docks and in the headlights of the car, Altaїr could see the dark shadow of a small building near the water. It was just a house and from the outside, there was nothing special about that building. Only a small red lamp in one of the windows of the upper floor and a dark figure in front of the entrance door implied something different. Altaїr knew this place well, Talal had brought him often enough here to threaten him with the prospect of being put in that establishment as a punishment. Talal did not care so much how he used his slaves as long as he got money out of their use.

Altaїr kept his silence for now and just watched the slowly falling snow when a movement to his left suddenly startled him. Talal did not hit him, he just held his hand open for him, his palm pointing towards the roof of the car, his dark eyes fixated at the building in front of them. "Give me the money." He said his voice flat and calm and really, nothing of his voice could reveal something about the way the man felt right then and there. Of course, Altaїr hurried to scramble the coins from his pockets and handed them towards Talal just to watch his boss counting the money. His face was calm and collected when the man finally turned his head to look at him. "Where have you been?"

Well, at least Talal gave him the opportunity to defend himself. Altaїr pulled the business card from his pocket Malik gave him und handed it to Talal after the man had put his money into a small bag under his seat. "There was a guy who gave me this. He demanded that I should go with him to eat and because my earnings had been so bad I thought I could use the chance to pickpocket there at that food bank, so I went with him."

There were a small appreciative hum and a brow that was lifted ever so slightly before he watched Talal reading the name of the card. "Look at this; you're not as useless as I thought." Talal finally said. "Consider yourself lucky, boy. I will not punish you for not reaching your daily quota, but rest assured that I had enough time of think about a punishment for you being late."

Altaїr did not know if it was in fact not enough money, he had not had the time to count it himself but it did not matter anyway. And with that, Talal started the car again to drive off. For now, Altaїr escaped this place another time, but he knew he would not escape this fate forever. Talal resented him and Altaїr knew he just waited for an opportunity to get rid of him and still get money out of him. Whatever punishment awaited him tonight it would be much more severe than deprivation of food or being locked into _the hole_ for the night. At least Talal seemed like he had swallowed his bait but he felt still sick to the stomach. It was not as if he was afraid - oh no by now he knew most punishments Talal had install for his kindred - but he was haunted by his memories of this day. He was haunted by Malik's face and the feeling of knowing the man. He was Syrian of native, but his English lacked accent so he was probably raised in the US, so no chance that they already met in Syria once. Perhaps it would be better for him and his peace if he would not think about the matter much more than he already did.

No matter what Malik said, they probably would not see each other ever again. As soon as the man would realize what he did today and that he not only endangered his child but also his brother in letting a total stranger into the house, he would become just one of the many other people that ignored him on the street.

At least he had not really that much time to think about Malik and his family much more because soon after they left the docks Talal arrived at the warehouse and lead Altaїr through the backdoor into the building. No one really cared what happened in those warehouses by the docks in the dark of the night and Altaїrcould not hold it against those normal people. If he could, he would also try to ignore it as he tried to drown out the screams at night. When they entered the building, it was like passing through the gates of hell all over again. It smelled awful and it was cold. There was an open window in the ceiling, but no one knew how to close it, so it would always be cold and sometimes rain and snow would pour through the open window. However, although this stupid window was always open the stench in the air never vanished.

They had no real toilets to retreat to, just some buckets behind some curtains, it was the same with the showers ( _if_ they were allowed to shower), it was only a bucket filled with cold water, no soap, no towels (not even toilet paper sometimes). They were living like animals in here and the sleeping area was just separated by one or two folding screens to separate the men from the women, but in fact, it was quite ridiculous. There simply was no privacy for no one and under no circumstances. It was humiliating and that was nothing to get used to. They said men were able to adapt to anything, but that simply was not true. No human could adapt to being humiliated like this. The toilet and shower situation was not even the worst part. The public punishments were.

When they entered the warehouse, he could already see a bunch of people - men and women - sitting together eating their _meal_ (consistent of dry moldy bread and maybe a slice of cheese). Only a small low murmur could be heard from them, not loud enough to make out words, but there was a constant little noise. It helped a little bit to endure the loneliness. There was nothing like friendship in this community of slaves and there was no kindness between them. Of course, they helped each other from time to time but not so often and if they did, it was mostly between the women. Altaїr was sure they were all good people, but slavery and a situation like theirs did not exactly wake the best in a human being.

At first, Talal left him with the other slaves to lock away the money and this little bag he would always carry around when he picked them up. Altaїr did not even bother imagining how much money this man must have by now. Talal was the one who drove the big luxury car and who lived in a beautiful house not even near the docks. He was living a good life out of their misery, but Altaїr only made once the mistake of trying to get the others to riot against the man. They were too afraid to make a move against Talal especially after they would always see what happened to traitors. However, it was not just the others; Altaїr too was guilty of being fearful. He had learned his lesson. Confronted with treason or riot Talal liked to hurt not the traitor or rioter, but the people around him. He would punish an innocent and made the traitor a pariah amongst the others.

That was why nobody would even make a move to come to his aid when Talal came back and called for his two most loyal handymen, Abbas and Swami, to get him and chain him to one of the many columns holding the roof. Nobody even looked at him when he stood there with his back exposed or when his clothes were cut from his lean body with a large knife. His body counted many scars already and he knew after this night there would be several more.

He guessed he could consider himself lucky. Talal refrained from rape – at least most of the times and especially when it came to men – unlike many other slave traders. Altaїr already heard countless stories like this and every one of them made him sick to the stomach. There would always be torture and rape in those stories, especially when those gruesome men learned that there was a homosexual in the ranks of their slaves, no matter if male or female, child or adult.

When the wooden stick hit his back for the first time that evening the pain was unbearable. It was always the first hit, which was the most unbearable. Talal was strong and he was brutal when he beat him with the stick and Altaїr knew that the man was enjoying the sight of his quivering, naked, bloody body in front of him. Altaїr could not feel the blood dripping from his back, because his skin felt hot and torn and open and numb all at the same time, but he knew he was bleeding and he would see the blood drops on the ground if he would crane his head, but he preferred to rest his forehead against the cold stone in front of him and tried to endure the punishment without screaming or whimpering. Abbas' ugly, grinning face was right next to the column and Altaїr knew that he waited for Altaїrto look at him, just like he did in those nights prior to this when Altaїr would be chained like this to a column, helpless and exposed in the dead of the night and the darkness was nobody could see what this man would do to him. He hated Abbas' with passion; he resented every fiber of his very being. The man would laugh at him, he would taunt him for being gay, but as soon as the lights were out and everyone would sleep he would take a man's chained and trapped body nonetheless like the hypocrite he was.

There was nothing worse than being exposed to a rapist day by day, nothing worse than living with a man like this who would openly laugh at Altaїr's sexuality and would taunt him in front of all the others around and then fuck him when nobody would see or hear. Altaїr knew that the others knew. Of course, they knew. They had seen the blood more than once on his legs after a night of torture chained to a column like this, but they would never say anything and they did not know who it was and maybe they thought he deserved it for being queer.

Once a woman had tried to help him when he was not able to stand upright anymore, but a man had dragged her away and said _"He wants it like that. That was his decision."_ Altaїr knew that being gay was still considered a crime in Syria and how could he expect mercy from the men and women around him when they all knew he was gay? Maybe they were right. Maybe he really deserved nothing better.

For now, it was the beatings and Altaїr had no other choice than to hope it would stay like this. He did not know how long his punishment went on and on while the others were forced to watch. His knees were already trembling and he could not stand anymore, but his chains held him on his feet although he just wanted to slump to the ground and curl himself into a small ball. At some point, Talal was satisfied by the sight of his bloody and torn back and finally left him.

"If anyone even tries to unchain him or feed him they will be punished exactly like this." Talal threatened and then he finally retreated. He would lock his bureau and then he would jump into his big car and drive home to his family like nothing happened as if it was just an ordinary day in one of his many businesses.

Tonight there was no visitation from Abbas after all the others went to sleep as if he would not be there hanging by his chains on the column. Altaїr did not hate the others as he hated Abbas or Swami or Talal, at least he tried to convince himself of this every day. They all were just trying to survive this horror the best way they could even though not one of them had hope for a better future. There had been suicides in this warehouse already, but mostly the people try to run away, got caught and were slaughtered. Yes, that was the right word. It was a slaughterhouse they were living in and behind one of the large metal doors, there was the cooling chamber with the hooks and the bathtubs filled with ice. After the lights were turned off Altaїr stifled a small sob. His whole body hurt and it was his own stupidity who caused him this trouble, not Malik or little Tazim who forced him to have dinner with them. It was his fault alone.

Altaїr did not find sleep this night – of course not – he only found a state of unconsciousness during the early hours of the morning and now he was brutally rose from this peaceful state when Abbas finally unlocked his chains and let him fell to the floor. His limbs were numb and his arms tingled painfully now that the blood was rushing through his system again.

Before he could even manage to regain full consciousness again there were clothes thrown into his face. They stunk more than his old ones and they were more torn and dirty. Altaїr was already disgusted just by touching them. Was that blood on the color of the shirt or was it vomit? Perhaps he did not want to know. He had no other choice than to wear them. "Move your boney ass, cocksucker, Talal expects you in his car in ten." Abbas snarled at him before he turned and left to go back to his business, whatever that even was. Altaїr had troubles pulling on his newly acquired outfit but he did not even bother asking for help until an elderly woman came to his aid after seeing him struggling with the pants for minutes on end.

"Careful, child." She whispered when she helped him to his feet again after she helped him into the clothes and tied his shoelaces. The new shoes did not fit, but the other ones had not fit also. He learned to endure the pain of too small shoes by now. His legs felt wobbly and weak when he tried the first steps towards the back door, but he nearly fell and the woman was right there to catch him. Altaїr was not sure that he had seen her before, but on the other hand, he tried to avoid all those other people around as much as they were avoiding him. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Perhaps she was an angel. _Who knows_?

"Thank you…" Altaїr muttered hoarsely under his breath when they reached the back door. "You shouldn’t help me; the others won't look at you anymore if you do."

However, the old woman just laughed and shrugged her bony shoulders. She somewhat reminded him of his grandmother or that old woman yesterday in the street. Maybe he really was going crazy, "Don’t worry about me, son. Worry only about yourself." With that, she parted ways with him and left him to his own devices so he could leave the warehouse.

It was cold when Altaїr finally sat down in front of the antique shop. The air was like ice and cut into the skin of his face. It was still early and for just one second Altaїr caught himself thinking about Malik and if he really would look out for him today or if he would ignore him like everyone else. Altaїr was not stupid, he knew that this dinner at Malik's house and this kindness was a one in a lifetime's situation and would never happen again. Malik was no hero and no knight in shining armor that would come to save him from the dark. Maybe Altaїr should try and run away even though he would not be able to escape. Talal had his eyes everywhere in this city, he knew that. He would find him but _oh well_ at least then he knew that this torture was finally over and he would be released from his suffering. He hated this way of thinking and he hated it that t he was weak like this.

This was not like him at all. This was not the Altaїr he once was. Maybe he should have gone with Malik to the police yesterday to free himself and the other ones. However, he was way too afraid for that. He was scared and that was no surprise. He was not so much scared for his own life, but for the people, he would ruin with his actions. There was a child involved in all this after all. If he would turn to Malik for help he would endanger this precious kid, would not he? He could never do something like this. No, not ever.

Malik seemed to be a good guy; he would not deserve losing his family just because of someone like Altaїr. It was moments like this when Altaїr's thoughts went back to one day in Aleppo and to the bomb that nearly cost his life. The truth was he did not remember much about the day. He remembered a soldier running for him and then the suicide bomber and the explosion and the feeling of something (someone) heavy being thrust into his body, but after this, all went black. He escaped the hospital he was brought to shortly after his awakening and he never knew what happened with the soldier that tried to shield him from the explosion. He was probably dead and Altaїr wished he had only remembered his face.

Suddenly there were feet right in front of him and then something hot that was placed into his cold, trembling fingers, but when Altaїr looked up the person was already moving away and Altaїr could only see the broad back and the black coat of the man who held his briefcase tightly clutched to his body.

There was the smell of fresh coffee beans steaming from the cup Malik placed into his begging hands and when Altaїr finally looked at the cup, he could not help but smile just a little. _Meet me at the food bank this afternoon_ , was written on the cup with a black felt-tip. Malik had a beautiful handwriting; he could not deny that fact, even on a cup like this, which was probably already filled with the boiling hot liquid when he wrote on it.

His little silly heart jumped in his chest just once and Altaїr had no clue why. At least he now had something to look forward to during this cold morning.

Until the afternoon finally came, he was shooed away seven times and just jumped from corner to corner. Altaїr had no other choice than pushing through his pain that still held his battered body in a tight and demanding grip. He never was allowed to treat his wounds and when the afternoon came, he felt already sick and weak. He thought he could feel the infection starting to grow inside his body although he knew that this was impossible. He definitely felt sick and even sicker with every moment, he spent outside in those dirty new clothes on his bloody back.

It was quite hard to get back on his feet after hours of sitting. His legs still felt wobbly since this morning and his wrists still burned where the chains had bitten into his tender skin. The cold did not make the pain of his wounds any better. He had a hard time finding the food bank after he had not the address anymore, but he managed it nonetheless, but he felt unsure on his way as if he was being watched constantly. Perhaps he was. It would not surprise him if Talal's men would watch his every move after yesterday's events.

In front of the food bank, he stopped and waited but it was not long before he could see the dark figure of Malik Al-Sayf again who just left a small alleyway, clutching his briefcase like every time he saw the guy outside. Malik did not exactly look like a pencil pusher regardless of his suit and orderly attire so Altaїr was quite curious what the guy really hid in his briefcase although it was probably boring. After all, what could the guy possibly hide? He was a father of a four-year-old boy, lived in a nice house, had a younger brother who was going to study at Harvard and looked suspiciously unsuspicious in his general attire.

The man smiled when he noticed Altaїr at the door of the food bank before he gestured him to enter the establishment. Altaїr knew that he was at risk when someone would see him with this stranger – but oh well, he had known what he was getting himself into this time. He had had an entire day to think about Malik's words and the punishments he got last night was enough to convince Altaїr for now. This needed to stop.

"Sit down I'll get you something to eat." Malik said. His smile was already gone again, although Altaїr had liked to see it just a little longer. Again, the man wore his usual dark scowl in his face and he did not seem to be in any kind of a hurry when he wandered towards the counter and came back with a plate filled with tomato soup. It smelled delicious, but for Altaїr absolutely everything smelled delicious at that point in his life. Malik sat opposite of him at the large table on the small bench and just watched him eat for a little while. It did not appear as if he was going to start talking first, so Altaїr had no other choice then throwing the bait. "

"Where's Tazim?" He simply asked. "Is his mother picking him up today?" It was an innocent question but his intentions maybe were not that innocent. After all, it was quite right what was told about him. He was hella gay and Malik was a handsome man and a kind man he was too. However, Altaїr would never openly flirt with the man or would show him his intentions for he had none. Altaїr knew that this would not be a love story like _Pretty Woman_ and Malik would not free him from his misery so that they could live happily ever after. This was not a fairy tale, but at least he wanted to know more about this man who so freely engaged in meeting a homeless guy like him after letting him into his home and he was so desperate to find out why he thought to know this man.

"Kadar does. My wife passed away four years ago, shortly after Tazim's birth." Malik answered with his usual cool and calm voice. Altaїr had no clue at all why the man sat here with him and why he even spoke with him other than he wanted to set a few ground rules.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He said finally and dared a small look at his face until he finished his meal. "Look I'm sorry that I disrupted your family dinner yesterday. I promise I won't come near you or your son ever again." Because that was the only understandable reason why Malik wanted to talk to him, was not it? He was no asshole who would yell at him on the street, he wanted to _end_ this before it had started as kind as he could.

"Shut up." There was this deep frown again but when Altaїr blinked a small smirk pulled at the corners of Malik's mouth. "If I wanted to shoo you away I would most definitely have not bought you a coffee this morning and I would not have made the effort to write on that stupid cup. So shut up and let me do the talk instead."

"I won't go to the police, Malik." Altaїr said before Malik could even dare to say it. "No police. Please just don’t engage in this stuff. You have a child, so you should better think about your kid and your brother and not about me or my situation."

"I don’t want you to go to the police. Most of them are corrupt anyway and people like Talal are the people the chief of police plays golf with. I should not even have considered it yesterday, I am sorry for that mistake. I-"

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, I mean just look at you all dressed up like this … You must be something like a lawyer, right? Is that why you are doing this? I am no social call for you Malik. I am not a charity project."

"Well, you are, to be honest, but no I am not a lawyer. I am … I _was_ a soldier and I don’t pity you and I don’t see you as a charity project, but I have friends that could help you - _if_ you want help."

"You were a solider?" Altaїr's eyes suddenly got huge. He did not really know what to think about this new information. It was not like he would resent soldiers in general, but he also did not like them very much. They reminded him of the life he left behind and those staring eyes that watched his every movement.

"Yeah." Malik ruffled through his hair although he did not seem to feel uncomfortable with this topic. "I joined the army right after High School and was years later stationed in Syria. I was there for five years until my son was born and my wife died."

Suddenly it was Altaїr who felt uncomfortable and shifted a little bit on his seat. He did not exactly trust soldiers. Malik seemed like a good guy and perhaps he was, but he had seen US-soldiers in Syria and he had seen the crimes they sometimes committed. They were hardly any better than those terrorists, but they acted like heroes. There was nothing left for him then to just believe that Malik was one of the good guys no matter how hard it was. "And now? You said you _were_ a soldier, are you still in the military?"

"Well … no, not really. You see I was wounded during my last stay in Syria and that was why there was no need for me to go back and since I am pretty much alone in this country with my brother and my son, I needed to stay here. The army can be unforgiving when you turn your back to them. Former friends can become your enemy just because they think you're a coward that refrained from his duty to protect his country. So after a few rough months of paperwork and caring for my son without getting any support from my bosses or really anyone else besides Kadar whatsoever, I quitted and I never regretted leaving the army."

"But what are you doing now? I can't imagine that a former soldier just starts a new life in some stupid, boring office job." Altaїr snorted. He had seen Malik yesterday in his casual clothes and even then, he seemed fit and his body in good shape, very much like he was still in training to be a soldier and be ready for combat. No, that guy was no pencil pusher. His whole demeanor screamed that he was not, no matter the suit and tie. His dark often-gloomy eyes spoke of danger and a risky lifestyle; it did not seem to match with being a single parent that worked in a boring office day in day out. There was something very odd about Malik Al-Sayf, but as well as the sensation that he thought to know the guy, he could not grasp what it was that was so odd about him.

"I guess that is something I won't discuss here in public and not with a total stranger that did not even want my help." Malik grinned about that, just a little and Altaїr rolled his eyes.

"I don’t need your help, Malik. I am very much capable of looking after myself."

"Yeah, I've noticed that." Malik shrugged. "Listen I won't force you if you don’t want to be free again, alright? If you so much desire to be Talal's slave for the rest of your probably short life, then feel free to do it. But I am offering you the chance to not only help yourself but the other people that are under Talal's control right now." He stopped and then lowered his voice when he bent a little bit forward over the table so only Altaїr could hear him and his dark eyes remained fixed on his amber ones. "Listen, boy, those friends I told you about are people that are watching people like Talal for a long time now, but they never had the chance to get enough information to get that bastard behind bars because of his connections with the police. If you would decide to take my generous offer here, they would provide shelter and safety for you until Talal is locked up. You would get new documents if necessary and they would take care that you could live somewhere safe where people like him could not find you again."

"So is that why you decided to be nice to me yesterday? It was not just because Tazim was there, right? You took me in for Dinner because you saw a chance so your ominous _friends_ could get Talal's ass?" Altaїr was not quite sure, if he was just angry with the man in front of him or if he was devastated and disappointed. Malik was hardly any better than Talal if he played him like this just to get information. Maybe he and his people had the greater good in mind when they tricked poor, silly people like him, but it felt like betrayal nonetheless. Before Malik could say anything else, Altaїr rose up from his spot. "You know what, Malik? Fuck you and your _friends_. I don’t believe a single word you said. As if people like you would really care about people like me. As soon as you have your precious information, I am no more than a worthless piece of junk with no use whatsoever. Who says that you and your friends won't kill me afterward? I don’t even know what you're doing and who your friends are. Who says I won't get into more trouble if I would help you? Fuck no. At least I know that Talal will kill me at some point. I won't make a stupid decision like joining Talal again with joining you and your people. I've seen US-soldiers over there and I've seen what you people are doing with people like me. _Fuck you_. Go. Wander the streets and search for someone stupid with the help of your little boy again and try your wounded soldier-trick again."

With that, Altaїr turned and he left the food bank before Malik could even try to hold him back and Altaїr already knew he would not even try in public. Malik was sure no man who gave a fuck about what people might say about him when seeing him with a homeless person. He got probably enough suspicious looks just because of the color of his skin or because of his name. However, he certainly would not go after him now. That was his luck, but all Altaїr could really think about when he strolled back to his usual spot, was that he maybe just rejected a promising chance to start a new life. If Malik would really find someone else like him Talal might be stopped, but he and the other people would be shipped back to Syria then or they would be left to their own devices and then they would also sit on the streets and beg.

_Oh, Altaїr you stupid moron … What have you done again?_

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He had no idea how he managed it, but he really achieved his quota that day and for that Talal only frowned at him when Altaїr handed him the money after he was picked up by the man that evening. Surely, he hoped he would not make it so he had another reason to punish him in some way or finally get rid of him. They arrived in silence at the warehouse, but as soon as they stepped through the backdoor, Talal raised his voice at him again. "We've got a new one today. I leave you to the task of looking after that guy."

Altaїr only nodded. It was nothing new that they got new slaves every now and then whenever someone survived the hellish journey across the seas but it was unusual that someone like Altaїr would be commanded to look after someone new and tell them how the things worked in this place. It was meant as punishment - at least this was for sure. He did not protest when Talal shoved him into the _community area_. He spotted the new one immediately. He really was a big guy with black wild hair and an even wilder untrimmed beard and dark skin, which stood near a column and appeared to be a little lost. It was quite impossible to estimate his age because of his dirty skin and all those hairs.Normally Altaїr would say he looked funny standing like a lost puppy far off from all the others that were already eating and chatting, but Altaїr still had Malik on his mind.

What if he really had missed on his chance just by being too proud for his own good? He would never learn his lesson it seemed.

The new arrival had a broad back and wide chest and his dark eyes were fierce but he looked friendly and even a little sympathetic, even though Altaїr had no interest in getting to know the guy more than it was necessary for fulfilling his task. Talal was already gone when he turned his head again and there was only Swami standing near Talal's office door like he was guarding it. As if any of them would go in there freely or even try to steal from him. You could as well amputate your own hand and spare yourself the effort of breaking into the bureau first.

"You must be the new one." Altaїr said finally when he stepped closer to the man. He smelled just like everyone else in this warehouse but he did not seem to be used to it by now. "I'm Altaїr."

The man extended his hand for Altaїr to take and even if he was a little surprised at first, Altaїr took his hand and gave it a court shook. "Rauf.", the man said. "Name's Rauf. It seems I don’t know what it is to live in this community and I would be glad if you could teach me."

Altaїr smirked only a little even if cost him all his strength. He was terribly tired and he felt weak and hungry again although he had a warm soup already. "I'll do my best." He said and then moved towards the sleeping area, knowing Rauf would follow. It was nothing more than the bare ground and a bunch of blankets and a few pillows. "These are our beautiful sleeping quarters. You better be quick, otherwise, you won't get a pillow or a blanket. The women are sleeping behind that folding screen on the left."

Altaїr could feel Rauf standing behind him and when he turned, the man appeared to be in shock. Altaїr did not know if he should pity the man for waking up to a nightmare like this or laughing over his stupid fantasies. What did the guy think? Did he think they would sleep in nice and warm beds? He just patted his shoulder and pointed towards the end of the hall. "Back there you'll find our _bathrooms_ , but you'll better try and beg someone on the streets to use their bathroom or you try and use public bathrooms at the train station or something like this."

Again, Rauf made a small grimace, but Altaїr put his hands on his hips and tried again a friendly smile. At least he should try and give the man some hospitality.He was about to learn how horrible his life would be soon enough. "The food rations are restricted so if you do anything wrong out there you will be punished with food deprivation. Tonight you can have mine. I am not hungry."

Rauf eyed him up and it was quite obvious what he thought but he said it nonetheless. "You look hungry, boy. You are thin as a twig."

However, Altaїr only waved at him dismissively and gestured towards the other persons sitting around and eating. "Believe me, you will get used to a very small amount of food and by that, you will barely feel hungry anymore."

"That's because your body is starving." Rauf corrected and it seemed like he wanted to say something else, but then Abbas' loud voice filled the hall.

"Altaїr get your ass over there! The boss said you need to bathe!" He gestured wildly towards the _bathroom area_ before he retreated again to Talal's office. Now it was Altaїr who made a face, but he smiled at Rauf.

"Go eat, make yourself comfortable, we will get up early in the morning and you need to be rested when you want to survive out there in the cold the whole day."Altaїr really was not used to talking to someone in the warehouse as much as he already did with Rauf. The other people won't talk to him at all and he had no need to talk to them also. With that, he left Rauf to his own devices and walked towards the end of the hall.

It was terribly cold when he parted from his clothes after retreating behind one of the folding screens. On the other side, was another man washing his body and grunting lowly. Altaїr could only see his back and he did not want to know what he was doing exactly. He laid his clothes to the side so they won't get wet and then sat down on the cold ground. There was just this one bucket filled with water and a washcloth. No soap like always. Hell Altaїr was greedy for a nice warm bath. He was not fond of water, especially after his journey over the ocean, but he really wanted to lay down in a tub filled with boiling hot water so his limbs and tired muscles could get warm again. He was so tired of living like this. With practiced ease, he slowly began to scrub at his skin with his back to the other male. Altaїr was not shy, but he would rather avoid making eye contact with the man. He did so mostly with anyone in this place. He was not afraid of what they could say to him or how they could look at him, but he did not like looking at them and knowing that they would stab his back with no remorse at all. It was like he wore a sign the whole time running around in this place. He was branded as a sodomite and with that, he was free to attack.

It was quite hard to reach his back because of his hurting arms, but he managed and tried his best to rub away the dried blood from last night's punishment. He took his time although the other man was already finished and although Altaїr knew pretty well that it was not long until the lights would be turned off. He hesitated to pour the cold water over his head to get the scrubbed of dirt from his skeleton like body, but then he heard the sound of approaching steps and in the moment when he reached for the bucket, there was already a big hand grabbing the handle and then his body fell into a small shock when the cold-cold water was poured over his head. The bucket fell to the ground with a small clatter while Altaїr still gasped for air like a fish. He would never get used to this and there was already the booming laughter of Abbas behind his back shoving him forward so Altaїr lost his balance sitting on his knees and fell over into the cold puddle on the floor.

He expected a beating or at least a kick to the stomach, but Abbas did not do anything of that sort. "Lights go out in five, so you better get your wimpy ass to your bed princess." The man scoffed before turning way and kicking Altaїr's clothes towards him. They landed in the puddle of water on the floor and Altaїr had no chance in getting them fast enough out of the water so they would get soaked. He was quite certain when he put his wet clothes on again and retreated to the sleeping area just in time for the lights to be turned off, that he really missed his chance today.

He should've accepted Malik's offer, he should've tried to run away from this place, but now he could do nothing other than to lie down in one corner of the area. There was no blanket left for him and of course no pillow either, but he curled himself into a little ball and closed his eyes nonetheless in a pity attempt to sleep. Although his body was shaken by the cold and the wetness of his clothes he still managed to fall asleep strained by the day and last night's punishment. He would rather sleep forever than be shook awake the next morning again. It would be a blessing to just never wake up again.

He was not shaken awake the next morning, but he was startled by the sound of some distinct noise somewhere in the warehouse. His eyes were used to the darkness surrounding him at least enough so he could see that the other man were still fast asleep and for a moment he thought he just imagined things, but then there was the sound again and Altaїr rose to his feet. He felt like his limbs were frozen like wet cloth hanging on a washing line in Siberia. As quiet as he was able to, he slowly moved towards the general direction of the sound until he finally noticed that the sound was coming from Talal's office. The door was open, at least a little and for a brisk moment, Altaїr was sure he had seen the light of a flashlight moving through the bureau. It was not Talal that was certain, although Talal would probably be here at last in an hour, judging by the clock hanging above the office door.

He better moved back to the other men and tried to use this last hour to sleep just a little again. He better won't get caught near the bureau at such an hour when someone clearly was snooping around in the room. He better backed off. He did not. It was his own curiosity, which caused him to get closer and flashed a glance through the gap. There really was someone in Talal's office searching through drawers and closets for _something_. It did not seem like the person was in search for money otherwise, they would stand in front of the safe and would try to open it.

Then there was another sound behind him, a door was closed heavily. It was the back door of the warehouse, not far away from the office, so Altaїr turned and hurried back to the hall when Abbas' voice left him frozen in place. "Well, well who have we got here?" Abbas stood only a few steps away from him by the time Altaїr got his tired body to move and when the man turned to the light switch, it was quite obvious that Abbas could see the still open door right behind Altaїr's back. Abbas chuckled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Oh Altaїr, you make it way too easy for the boss to find reasons to punish you."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Okay. View is clear again. No one around." The dust settled after the first explosion in this normally crowded street of Aleppo. They had gotten a tip that the terrorists would blow up an old car this afternoon when the street would be full of people but they managed to prevent this attack on the innocent people of Aleppo with their own-targeted explosion. Now the threat was gone (for now) and the people should be free to go on with their day, although Malik knew they never were truly free. The people of Aleppo were living in constant fear and this now was just all the more proof that they were not save at all._

_The people of Aleppo left their houses in the morning and bid their loved ones farewell because they did not know if they would see them in the evening again or if their house would still be there where they left it. It was a horrific idea. Malik understood how those people must feel. He constantly thought about his pregnant wife back home in the US and about his little brother Kadar who was with her. It was nearly nine months ago that he left home to follow his duty here in Syria – here in his home country even though it did not feel like home. He was born in Syria, but he was raised in the US after his parents made the wise decision to grab their five-year-old son and_ move _to the US. They fled, this was the ugly truth and Malik could not hold it against them. He would have done the same thing with his wife and son._

_Tomorrow he would finally be sent home again to his family for the birth of his first child, his son and he could not wait for this moment when he would see her again and when he would hold his little boy for the very first time. Life in the army was never easy and Malik knew that right from the beginning, but it was even harder now with the prospect of leaving a family behind if he would die because some insane man would decide to blow himself up in Malik's reaching distance. He would probably never understand those men that hurt innocent people and even children._

_Malik knew that it wouldn’t be easy to live at home – even though he didn’t know how long he would be there until he would be sent to Syria again – because he knew the stories of all the other wounded soldiers going back home. Until now he never really experienced anything like PTSD but of course, the things he saw and did haunt him sometimes in his sleep. It was only normal, he was only human. Malik had seen children dying in crowded dusty streets. He had seen children starve and he had seen people being torn apart until there was nothing left other than pink fog on the walls of houses. He had seen ripped off limbs lying on the streets where children would play and he had seen disease and suffering, had heard bombs going off and the screaming and crying of the people around._

_However, Malik never regretted his decision to join the army right after his High-School graduation although his wife first did not want anything to do with him because he was in the army. He could not hold it against her. He was a running target, she said, and she did not want to marry a man who could be dead the next day and leave her behind with a child and debts and grief._

_Relieved Malik took a deep breath, his eyes still focused on the dusty street. There was nothing left of the exploded car. He did not even want to imagine the damage this bomb would have done to the people around. "Good job, owl." A man to his right, Rauf he was called, nudged him against his right shoulder, his wide grin only hidden behind the scarf he had pulled into his face to protect his mouth from the dust of the explosion._

_"Don’t call me that." Malik chuckled. He was used to the stupid nickname by now, he wore it since his very first day in the US Army and now he had grown quite fond of it, though it still was silly and his brother would always laugh about it if he would hear it._

_"So tomorrow is the big day, right?" Rauf sighed when he sat up on the roof they were stationed. Malik followed his example now that the danger was gone._

_"Yepp. This was my very last sniper job for the next few months I hope. Tomorrow I will finally go home. I hope my son decides not to enter this world without me being around, my wife would never forgive me if I'm not there when he is born." He replied with a small smirk only visible because of the small wrinkles around his dark eyes, before he pulled the scarf down and revealed his face fully._

_"The let us pack our stuff and go. The job is done and the boss will be happy to have us back in one piece."_

_It was never easy and it was never routine, Rauf knew that. No matter how often they did something like this job, it never was easy. There were always possibilities how it could all go wrong very fast, they were never certain that it would go okay when they did something like this explosion today. Malik knew that this was just a small success. There would be many other bombs that they would not get information for before they would explode and rip people from their families. Terror knew no mercy and no period of grace. Terror was simply cruel and unfair._

_Malik disassembled his sniper rifle as he had done many times before to store it in its bag again when suddenly Rauf grabbed his attention again. "Look at this. Oh man, I swear to god I will never understand those people. How can they go on as if nothing happened? If we hadn’t been here they would be all dead now but they just go on like nothing happened."_

_There were the first few people that slowly crept across the street again; clutching their bags and things like it were just another normal day. Well … it was this was the sad reality of all this. "I guess they're just used to it by now." Malik shrugged his shoulders, right before he spotted a man, dressed in black clothes right in the middle of the street. "Fuck I knew it!" He yelled and jumped up and only got a confused look from Rauf._

_This was already Malik's fifth year in this country and by now, he could spot a suicide bomber a mile away. Of course, they did not look the same, of course, most of them were unsuspicious people who he would not look at twice, but there was always this feeling inside Malik's chest when he would spot one of them. He simply knew it. It was the way they were behaving or how they would stand in the middle of a crowded street just like this bastard down there!_

_Malik yelled at the people on the street, before he climbed down the ladder to get in the street. He knew he was behaving stupid. Of course, he was, but he was not able to assemble his rifle again fast enough to shoot the man from the distance. He needed to be fast before this person could set off his bombs. Malik was running as fast as he could, still yelling at the people around him. They panicked and they ran for their lives just as Malik hoped they would. It was just seconds until Malik reached the man in the middle of the street and he already had his knife in his hand. He needed just a swift stab – just one stab! – and the man would not be a threat anymore, at least for the moment. When the man spotted him he tried to run, but Malik was faster. He jumped him and could only hope he would not trigger the bombs with that._

_When he grabbed the man and was about to stab his knife into his abdomen there was just a brief second in which their eyes locked. Fuck this man was still a child! He was just a boy! However, Mali had already seen children with bombs strapped to their frail little bodies. This was war, this was terror and this was merciless, unfair, and silly. Child or not, this boy was a threat. His amber-eyes were full of horror and then suddenly – right behind the boy – there was a loud cry just as he heard so many times before._

_He fucked up._

_Malik knew that he was fucked before the bomb exploded. His instincts betrayed him at last and there was nothing he could do other than to fling his right arm around the innocent boy in front of him and whirl around to shield this silly kid from the explosion. He should have seen the terrorist sooner. He should have._

_Then the world was ripped apart to shreds with a loud noise. His ears rang when the impact catapulted him off his feed with the young male still in his arm and an unworldly pain shooting through his whole body. It all happened too fast for Malik to comprehend, but when the dust settled again and when he found himself lying like a living shield on top of the young male he falsely accused of being a terrorist, he could only hear shrill screams and painful cries everywhere around him. The knife in his left hand was not there anymore, at least Malik could not feel it in his hand and when he moved his hurting head just a little (fighting against the pain and the dizziness) he saw that his left hand was not there. His left arm was ripped from his body like the limp of a doll. And for this last second of awareness and consciousness Malik could only stare in horror at the stump that was left of his arm until darkness finally embraced him._

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There was a small rustling on the other end of the phone call, before the voice that startled Malik that morning and stressed him with problems he did not want to deal with right now spoke up again. "So what'd you think about all this, Owlik?"

"I think you should stop calling me that, idiot." He sighed and glanced over his shoulder to where the kitchen laid where he could spot Kadar and Tazim sitting at the table and munching their breakfast. It was about time to drop Kadar and Tazim off. He did not need to see the other person to know that the man on the other end rolled his eyes. He knew that just by the sound of a clicking tongue. The man was impatient with Malik – that man was always impatient with anyone even with himself. "Well first of all I think you should stop calling me when I'm home." He lowered his voice so the two boys in the kitchen would not hear anything. It was not as if he would live a secret life – but he did and then again, he did not. His brother knew perfectly well, what he was doing for a living, but his son did not and he was way too young to understand either. Malik did not try to hide anything from the both of them, but he liked to separate his personal life from his professional life. There simply was too much at stake. "And second of all I think we should make a move as soon as possible. It really needs to stop right now."

There was a small chuckle. "Always the soldier, Malik." the man sighed. "Always on the hunt for doing the right thing and for being good. You can't rescue all people, you know that right? You're no superman."

"No I'm not, but I can at least try to _rescue_ as many as possible from people like that scum."

"Be patient, Malik. We'll get the information we need and then we get his sorry ass."

Malik just snorted at that. "Yeah sure. We'll get the information and then we get him into jail. Is that what you're trying to tell me? As if he would stay in jail if we get his ass. People like him _never_ stay in jail for too long and even if he did – he isn’t the only one of those bastards. No, we need to _do_ something. That can't keep going on."

"It will always be like this, Mal, and you know that perfectly well. We are not capable of-"

"Daaaaad!"

"I need to get going now. See ya at the office." And with that Malik hung up before the other man could even try to stop him. At least the idiot contacted him via mobile phone this time. At least he could get rid of the track he left with that phone pretty easy if necessary. The protection of his family would always come first and the others knew that pretty well. It had been always like that and it would stay like that, no matter the good of their course of actions. Someday he would tell Tazim what he was doing and then the boy would follow in his footsteps, just as Kadar would – but the thing was that Malik had no clue at all if he really wanted that for those boys. He turned to the kitchen just to be confronted with little Tazim standing by the table (his mouth smeared with chocolate cream) and putting his little hands to his hips.

"What is it, Tazim?" Malik couldn’t help but chuckle when he spotted the dark frown in Tazim's face. Tazim resembled his little brother greatly with his big blue owlish eyes and the messy black hair, but this frowning face was Malik's. It was like seeing Kadar frowning at him with the exception that Kadar wasn’t exactly able to frown like this no matter how hard he tried.

"Your coffee is cold! And we're late! I can't be late for kindergarten today! If I'm late today Desmond will steal the best toys again!" The dilemma of a four-year-old child. If he would be late for Kindergarten today Malik was sure he would never hear the end of it how Desmond stole his favorite toy _again_ and how Shaun stole the best crayons _again_.

Kadar made a grimace behind his cup of coffee, which he used to shield his face so early in the morning. He did not seem ready for school today – well he did not seem ready for the math test today in school, although they spent the last evenings together learning for this day. "Okay, okay. Go wash your face monster and then put on your shoes. What about you? You're ready or do you want to take the bus today?"

Kadar hated taking the bus or really any public transport. His little brother was just like his son a little bit spoiled while Malik always learned to work hard for the things he wanted and needed. If not his late parents then the army taught him that. You don't achieve anything in the army if you won't work your ass off. Maybe he was still a little hurt about how his career ended. He had always known that he would not stay in the military forever. He had always known that he would settle down as soon as his child was born and that he would probably follow his roots back to where he came from like he inevitably did, but he had wished for a more pleasant ending when he would part ways with the military.

When he watched Tazim running to the toilet to get rid of the chocolate in his face (which he wouldn’t because he was a four-year-old child) he thought back to that day in Aleppo and his left Arm suddenly stung a little. He never learned what happened to the boy he saved. He still remembered the amber eyes staring in horror very vividly and he remembered the smell of burned flesh and the heat of the fire at his back, the screams, and the numbness of his broken body, but nothing else. There was a black hole between the explosion, the eyes in front of his and the moment he woke up in some military hospital back in the US. It had been Rauf who saved his life with arranging his consignment as soon as possible otherwise he would’ve probably died of infection in Syria because of the bad conditions even the army was living in. From Rauf he had learned the boy survived the explosion thanks to Malik who worked pretty much as a human shield for that kid and that he got away with a concussion and a small head injury and some smaller injuries to his face, but the boy escaped the hospital they brought him to as soon as he was awake. He hated not to know that his sacrifice did something. He hated not to know that this kid was still alive and happy and well in exchange of Malik's health. Malik really didn’t know why, but he thought of Altaїr. That stupid kid wouldn’t take his help and Malik really didn’t know if it was for his pride or out of fear.

"Hey stop staring into space I'm coming!" Kadar sighed and jumped up from the table. "Jeez…"

Tazim was already looking at him again with a small pout. He already put on his trusty shoes with the hook-and-loop fasteners (because he still couldn’t tie his shoelaces) and he still had little crumbs of chocolate in the corners of his mouth.

"You're weird, dad." The little boy said matter-of-factly and this time it was Malik's turn for making a grimace. He really needed to stop thinking back to that horrible day in Syria. It was four years ago and his wound long healed. He should consider himself lucky having survived the bomb so he could take care of his son after his wife's sudden death.

"When I'm weird you're weird too." He countered smirking before he helped the little boy in his jacket while Kadar stepped into his sneakers and put his thick jacket over. Malik was the last to grab his coat and wrap his scarf around his neck before he grabbed his briefcase next to the coat rag. Malik couldn’t really hold it against Altaїr that he was afraid. He would be too in his situation because he knew the ways Talal used to threaten his sheep. He was the wolf lurking in seeing distance ready to rip their throats.

Malik rarely used his car to drop off Kadar and Tazim and get to work, but today he didn’t felt like walking. As soon as Malik opened the door for them to go he knew something was off. For a moment he thought instincts would kick in to warn him of an upcoming danger, but when he heard the small gasp from his brother behind him and when he felt how something fell on his feet, he knew that there was no impending and imminent danger for them – not really at least.

There was no way Malik could’ve known that there was someone leaning on the other side of the door. How should he? It wasn't as if he used to have people sitting on the other side of his fucking door! The sudden impact of a body slumping down on his feet startled him more than he liked to admit, but then the soldier took over again, the man that was drilled for helping people.

"Isn't that this homeless guy you brought home a few days ago?" Kadar yelped, but Malik already crouched down so he could have a closer look at the boy's face. There was no way of mistaken this man for anyone else than Altaїr. His sandy brown hair was clotted with dirt, blood, and his face white as the freshly fallen snow outside his home with exception of the blotches of blood under his nose. He couldn’t really see any injury first, but then he saw that his face was literally split open on the right corner of his mouth and that the whole side of his face was stained with dried blood – probably from that wound.

Malik tried really hard not to curse in front of his child, but Tazim looked horrified by the sight of the injured man that was lying half inside their house and half outside. Altaїr didn’t wear shoes and only one sock (with a lot of holes in it), his clothes were ripped and shredded but Malik knew they already looked like that when he last met the man yesterday, but at least the blood on his torn jacket was new.

 _Fuck_ , he thought because he couldn’t say it out loud with his boy around. Altaїr seemed to be unconscious, but the shallow breathing told him he was at least still alive and for the first time Malik didn't really know if it wouldn’t be better for the poor guy to find peace and die. Death could be a blessing; he knew this pretty well by now. If it wasn’t for Tazim and Kadar he may have embraced death four years ago after the bomb, after his wife's death, after his whole life shattered to pieces. "Help me getting him inside the house." Malik turned to Kadar as calm as he possibly could although his little brother appeared to be in shock seeing another human being like that, but Malik tried to appear calm so he wouldn’t scare the little Tazim any further.

"What's with him?" Tazim's tiny voice called from his side when Kadar finally woke up from his stupor to help Malik picking the man up and in the same instant Malik cursed himself for taking the guy in. Altaїr's arms hung lifeless when they managed to lay him down in the living room on the sofa. Malik really didn’t bother that the cushions could be stained from his blood or the dirty clothes.

"He is sick, Tazim." Malik replied with a soft smile. "I believe he caught a cold and he came here to get better." He could only hope his son was naïve enough to believe him. He could only hope his son wouldn’t understand the meaning of the red stains all over the man's face and clothes.

"But he's bleeding." Tazim then said and Kadar shook his head and forced himself to grin a little. "No, it's tomato sauce. Come now Tazim, I'll drop you off at kindergarten and papa takes care of him so he'll feel better soon, okay?" Malik thanked all gods he knew for his brother playing along and not freaking out as he usually would. Kadar flashed him a last worried look, but then he grabbed Tazim's hand and dragged him along without any protest of the little one – for now. Malik knew he wouldn’t get away so easily, but now he had Altaїr to take care of.

As soon as he heard the door being closed behind the two of them he grabbed the phone from the pocket of his black coat and dialed the number that called him just minutes ago. It rang one-two-three times and then there was that deep thick accented voice again. "You're not on your way?"

"Ezio, we've got a problem."

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When Altaїr slumped down to the ground this time, he already lost count of the beatings he got. The wooden stick Talal liked to use for beating him was broken and splintered by now and landed with a loud clank on the floor after Talal had no use for it anymore. Altaїr tried desperately to catch his shuddering breath when he stayed lying face down on the ground. There was blood absolutely everywhere he looked and he knew his face was split open and there was already a dark red puddle on the floor under his face. He didn’t taste the iron of his blood anymore by now and he couldn’t smell it anymore. His body felt numb and dull and he wasn’t even able to move a finger by now. At least this time he wasn’t undressed in front of all those watchful eyes. Not that it would matter anyhow.

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Altaїr." Talal growled somewhere in the space behind him, somewhere outside the clouded universe that was his brain. Talal didn’t spare his head from injuries, why should he? He wouldn't care if he inflicted real damage to his brain. As long as Altaїr was still alive he could sit him in the shopping areas to beg and as long as he had legs to spread he could still sell his beaten and broken body and as long as his organs were mostly intact he could still gut him. There was no need for his brain to be intact. "That's how we deal with thieves and snoops."

Altaїr didn’t look at the other slaves that were forced to watch his punishment – again. He hadn’t seen Rauf for a while, but maybe the big guy just hid in fear somewhere. He couldn’t blame him if he did. He didn’t want himself get confronted with pity looks or disgust. Perhaps most of the others thought he wouldn’t deserve any better for being a griper and endangering himself again and again and again. He wasn’t whimpering anymore or sobbing and screaming as they sure hoped him to. He would never give them what they wanted, not as long as he was still conscious, not as long as he was still alive and in charge of his brain. At least he was in charge of his mind even when he wasn’t in charge of his body anymore.

"Abbas, Swami, take him to the backroom." Talal then said and Altaїr's head was already to dizzy to process the new information. The back room. Wasn’t that the place where they gut the others? Would he end in a bathtub filled with ice? He was too tired to panic, but when Abbas and Swami grabbed him under his arms he finally saw Rauf again standing by a column and making a very angry face. He didn’t look directly at Altaїr but he imagined seeing something like guilt in his dark eyes. Perhaps his brain already was mush. "I think we should cut off his legs. At least he can't snoop around or run away then." Talal chuckled and it was just now that panic kicked in. Altaїr struggled in their grip, but Abbas only laughed at him and dragged him along with Swami's help for Altaїr wasn’t able to walk by himself.

He was going to keep his legs, for now, they said hours later when they finally left him alone in the backroom. It was cold and he was freezing and tired, but he would keep his legs and he would keep his organs … for now. There was no ice-filled tub waiting for him, only further humiliation. They left him unchained for they knew he couldn’t move enough to even sit, how should he escape when he couldn’t even sit? Finally, the door closed shut behind Talal's back and soon after he heard the sound of being locked in. He was left in darkness, but at least there was a small window – much too high to reach it with bars in front. No, he wouldn’t escape. He could as well just keep lying here and wait for the death. Somewhere in between the beatings he lost one of his socks, but he couldn’t feel the coldness of the concrete against his skin anymore and he knew it would probably be his death if he would fall asleep.

After a while, Altaїr closed his eyes and he thought of nothing other than sleep, quietude, and peace. He didn't know who it was that brought him into this situation with snooping around in Talal's office a few hours ago and he didn't care either. It was his own fault that he was lying in this small room now. If he hadn’t been so curious he would sit in the streets to beg for coins by now. At least he was left alone finally. The stench of urine filled his nostrils and reminded him of his journey towards the seas and he didn’t even bother wiping away Talal's spit in his face. He was too tired. He was too tired to blink and open his eyes again and he wanted to escape and to dream of glistening waves in the sunlight and of golden domes in the distance and of deserts and heat and crowded noisy streets and markets and of children playing on a deserted plaza in the heat of the afternoon. And he wanted to dream of his grandmother and how she would tuck him into her thin arms to hold him close to her chest as if he was the most precious thing in the world.

It was dark outside when Altaїr opened his eyes the next time and the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t lying on the cold concrete ground of the small room anymore. He could feel warmth pressing against his chest and strong arms under his bottom to stabilize him in some way. He could hear the crunching sound of steps in the snow and the deep huff of a male. It sounded strained and tired. It was cold but Altaїr really didn’t bother knowing what was happening to him. He rather slept. Yes. Sleep. Sleep was exactly what he needed. He couldn’t get hurt when he just slept, right? No one would spit or piss on him when he was asleep – well at least he wouldn’t notice. The pain would not matter when he would sleep.

" _I'm so fucking sorry…"_ sounded a voice really close to him in English. Yeah, it must be English. He could understand the words, but he couldn’t process them. _"I'm so fucking sorry, kid. But don’t worry, I'll make things right again. Malik will protect you."_

Malik. He thought about brown eyes and an angry scowl and thick black hair and a deep voice. And then Altaїr thought about screams and pain shooting through his entire body and about the heat of a fire only shielded from another body over his own. He thought about the loud noise when the bomb exploded and of the sound of tearing flesh and guts and bones and the splatter of blood everywhere. He had been saved two times before and now he was going to die a third time, unable to help himself. How pathetic.

Sleep held him in its arms as a mother would hold her child, as _his_ mother probably held him before her death. His father always told him how glad he was that she postponed the wish to bring Altaїr with her so her colleagues would see him for the first time. He would’ve been dead if she had brought him with her and Altaїr didn’t know if he should be glad that he lived long enough to see the face of terror and the face of human trafficking to die and rot away like garbage. He still felt dizzy when he managed to pry open his eyes again. He expected to stand either in front of the gates to hell or heaven. He expected really anything nirvana could come up with, but he hadn't expected being confronted with an angry scowl and dark gloomy eyes hovering just inches above his face. Suddenly the dizziness was gone and forgotten.

"How are you?" Malik's voice was low and his face strained when he finally moved back enough to vanish from Altaїr's visual field. Altaїr didn't answer right away, he breathed but he didn’t really feel any pain and that irritated him greatly. His eyes shifted a little and he tried to have a look at his body as if he was afraid it wasn’t there anymore. Someone (probably Malik) covered his body with a blanket but he left him in his dirty and smelly clothes. Apparently, he was in Malik's house again, the question was how he'd come here?

The last thing he knew was lying in the dirty backroom, smelling like piss - which he still did. "I don’t know…" He confessed with a hoarse voice just so he could learn how speaking hurt. He felt sick. He felt hot and cold at the same time. He was shivering from cold and sweating from heat at the same time. He stunk and he felt disgusting, but he was still alive. He felt exactly like one year ago when he survived the journey from Syria and when infection and disease tried to drown him. "What happened?"

He didn’t think that Malik rescued him from Talal and he just vaguely remembered being carried through the cold and through snow and someone mumbling something he didn’t understand. When he looked at Malik the man furrowed his brows but then he shrugged his shoulders. He was dressed in his black coat and scarf and his black suit again, as he was about to leave the house. He couldn’t hear anything that suggested that Tazim or Malik's brother were around. It seemed they were alone in that house. "I don’t know, kid, you tell me. I found you in front of my house. Do you remember anything at all how you came here?"

But Altaїr could only shake his head no.

A sigh from Malik, then the man stood up from the stool he apparently dragged to the sofa at some point to watch Altaїr. "Can you stand?" He asked and there was no need for Altaїr to try. He knew he couldn't. So again he shook his head although he really wanted to try. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll be right back." He didn’t say something like _stay right here_ or _wait_ because they both knew Altaїr wouldn’t move at all. Even shaking his head was painful even though it was strange how dull his pain felt. By now he should be screaming in agony, but he wasn’t. He really didn’t feel a thing but he knew he should feel pain after the treatment he received and that thought frightened him. He still could move his legs, he saw them twitch under the blanket and felt the movement but everything felt somewhat _mute_ as if the pain was turned off and could be turned on every moment again. Malik left him behind in the living room and soon after he heard steps on the stairs.

Altaїr had no clue at all how long he stayed on the sofa before Malik came back, but he noticed the empty syringe lying on the coffee table in the meantime. Had he been drugged? That would at least explain why he didn’t feel pain. When Malik came back he hadn’t just left his coat behind, he also changed into his casual clothes again. He wore well-worn jeans and a black long sleeve. There was something odd about his left hand, now that he had the time to look at it. He still wore a golden wedding band – just like the first time he saw him, but his hand looked somewhat … well _too perfect_? Was that it? He probably imagined things.

"You need to help me a little bit here, kid. We're going upstairs. You need a bath and fresh clothes. I'll carry you, but you'll need to help me a little on the stairs, okay? Last time I carried an adult up the stairs was my stupid brother after getting drunk and he is shorter and probably lighter than you."

Altaїr didn’t like that idea. He didn’t want to get carried around like a child. He might be beaten and broken, but he still had pride left inside his body – at least enough so he won't let himself get treated like that. Well he really had no other choice, had he? Malik pulled his blanket back and Altaїr saw his bloody right feed and his torn left sock, but Malik left him no choice or any moment to think about all this when he carefully shoved his right arm under Altaїr's back and helped him sit up before he felt his left arm under his knees. He was right about Malik being a strong guy and still in good shape even if he wasn’t in the military anymore. Something felt odd about his left arm under the hollow of his knees. He really didn’t seem like he would’ve any problem lifting him from the sofa. Altaїr felt embarrassed when Malik carried him up the stairs, but he really had no other choice than holding onto the man before he was sat down in the bathroom on the edge of the tub.

"Don’t look at me like that kid." Malik smirked when he noticed Altaїr's gaze. He wasn’t angry with Malik for helping him – of course not – he was angry with himself for being weak and pathetic like that. But he didn’t reply to Malik's comment, instead, he just began getting rid of his clothes – of course with the help of the ex-soldier. He couldn’t even undress anymore! But he was grateful for the help nonetheless even though he felt ashamed for the state he was in. Malik controlled his face very well and Altaїr couldn’t really tell if Malik was at all disgusted by his looks or if he pitied him. His face was stoic and blank, his eyes focused on his task, while he finally pulled the dirty boxers from his thin legs. Altaїr avoided looking in the mirror because he knew he looked like a fucking skeleton.

Behind his back, the steaming hot water already waited for him to soak in. He really wasn’t fond of water, but hadn’t he yearned for a bath a small while ago? He didn’t even know how long it was since he last saw Malik. One day? Two? Maybe three? A week? Malik helped him getting into the tub and he had been clever enough to not pour soap or anything of that sort in the water so it wouldn’t burn in his wounds. "So can you tell me what happened that you look like this?"

Altaїr had no desire whatsoever to speak with the man, but speaking was more pleasant than enduring the silence between them. "I pushed my curious little nose in things that didn’t concern me." Altaїr said with something that could be called a small smirk, but his mouth hurts with the movement. Malik sighed by his side and then he pushed his sleeves up before he grabbed a sponge. It was that moment that Altaїr finally saw what was odd about his left arm. It wasn’t real. Malik pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, but Altaїr could see that the prosthesis went higher than his elbow. It was definitely false, but he moved the arm like a real one and used his hand like a real one. When Malik noticed his shocked face he chuckled and sat down on the edge of the tub before he motioned him to move enough so he could reach his back.

"I've lost it in Syria." Malik explained swiftly while his left hand – his fake left hand – began washing his back carefully and Altaїr hissed when he felt the burning of water against his torn and bruised skin. "They gave me a new one and if you ask me a better one."

"How could this prosthesis be better than your real arm?" Altaїr asked just so he didn’t need to think about his own problems for the moment. He had seen people losing limbs because of bombs. He had seen children with burned faces and skin and he had seen people crawling on their hands because their legs were gone. The thought of losing a limb as necessary as an arm or a leg was horrifying.

"It's bionic." Malik replied like it was the most normal thing. "That means it-"

"Yeah, I know." Altaїr shrugged while he let the man wash his back. He must be a pity sight the way he was sitting in that big tub like a small child. "I know what that means." For a moment he paused, but then finally he spoke up again. "I heard someone snooping around in Talal's office and when I get there to look who it was I got caught by Abbas – one of his handymen."

"And then they beat you up like this?" Malik didn’t appear to be shocked. As a soldier, he probably had seen far worse than this and Altaїr was grateful that he wouldn’t handle him with kid gloves just because of his condition. Altaїr shrugged his shoulders.

"It's their way of saying I was a bad puppy."

Malik chuckled softly before he began scrubbing away at the dirt and grime on his skull. There was already dirt and blood running over his face and dripping into the water, but at least he felt a little cleaner already. "You have fever." Malik commented matter-of-factly. "After the bath you should rest otherwise you won't get better and some of those wounds are infected. I'm afraid these wounds will leave scars."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Altaїr replied dryly while he looked down at the now dirty water. Malik kept washing him like he would wash homeless guys all the time in his bathtub. Apparently, he knew no shame or shyness towards other people in situations like this, but after a while, he pulled the plug from the tub to get rid of the dirty water and when Altaїr tried to stand up, he was pushed down again.

"Stay. You're not finished yet." Malik just said before he turned the hot water on again and let it fill the tub. "Relax I'm going to make you something to eat and then you'll go straight to bed."

"You don’t need to do all this for me."

"I know, but I want to and now shut up and enjoy your bath. Think of it as a vacation from slavery or something like that if it helps you. Be a good puppy as long as I'm gone." Malik smirked and there was something familiar in the way he smirked or looked at him. Altaїr still couldn’t grasp it. Malik acted so normal around him and so trusty like they knew each other their whole lives and still, it was strange and weird. Altaїr decided to push away his anger and resentment he felt for Malik in the soup kitchen, although he still felt a little betrayed by Malik's actions. He still didn’t know if he acted like this and helped him because of these _friends_ of him or because of his mission to stop Talal. Maybe it wasn’t important. Maybe he should just play along. He couldn’t (and wouldn't) go back to the warehouse. By now Talal surely knew already that he _escaped_ and he would search for him to get him back and _then_ he surely would cut off his legs so he couldn’t run away anymore.

He looked after Malik when the man left him and shoved his sleeves down again. He could see the muscles of his back flex under the thin fabric of his shirt. Altaїr always had a thing for strong men, but this wasn’t the right moment for things like that and he was in no condition to even think about stuff like that anyway. But oh well, at least his brain still functioned the way a twenty-five-year-old brain should function and his libido also still worked after all this shit. _What a relieve…_

Altaїr did how he was told and leaned back in the tub after the bathtub was filled with hot water again and after he turned the water off. It was the first time in ages that he got the chance to relax although he didn’t feel like it was the right time to relax. Well, on the other hand, what else could he do? He was free at last – well kind of. He was free and he didn’t know what he should do. He needed to learn the language of this country as fast as he could so he could leave Boston and travel as far away as possible so Talal wouldn’t get him again. Well … maybe he should consider helping Malik and those _friends_ of him to assure his freedom. There was nothing to lose, right? He would die either by Talal's hands or the hands of those strangers Malik called his friends or he would die on the streets. Either way, he would die, but the chances were higher to survive if he would trust Malik (or at least try to).

He felt tired and exhausted although he hadn’t done anything until now. At least he was clean again and he didn’t smell as bad anymore. With a small sigh, he followed the urge of sinking down into the water until it swallowed him whole. Through the water, he stared at the ceiling and listened to his own heartbeat and the pulse throbbing underneath his skin and the rush of his blood in his ears. He was alive. Still alive and he would get well again. How many times would something like that happen to him again? Two times he nearly died and now the third and still he was here. The god(s) knew no mercy with his poor soul. It was either that or he was meant for something bigger and more important. That was what his father liked to say at least. _You are something special, Altaїr. The world is already a better place since you are around –_ That was what he often said to him and now that Altaїr was an adult, he had no clue if his father would be proud of him and for what he had become. Was he the man he should be or was he a disappointment to his parents? After his father's death he just kept stumbling through life and now he was in a foreign bathtub in a foreign house and was dependent on some stranger's mercy.

For a moment he thought of never coming back to the surface again and let himself get dizzy so he would fall unconscious and drown in that tub. His whole life he had been afraid of water and getting his head under the surface and now he did exactly that, so why not end it with water? Suddenly he wasn’t afraid at all. No, he had seen and survived way more horrible things than drowning.

A dark figure appeared in the still open door and stopped there until Altaїr finally sat up again and gasped for breath. Malik seemed at the most confused about his behavior, but then again he came into the room and grabbed a towel. Altaїr felt a little like a kid when he stood with wobbly legs and was helped by Malik to get out of the tub before he was wrapped in the big towel and pushed down on the edge of the tub again. "You know you're a piece of work, right?" Malik smirked when he began rubbing his hair with another towel before he sat down opposite of Altaїr on the laundry box. His right hand grabbed his stubbly chin and turned his face gently. "You need stitches for this wound." Malik sighed.

"I hope you won't do it on your own." Was all Altaїr could muster to say. He trusted the man was capable of taking care of others and other peoples' wounds, but he didn’t really want to test his ability to sew a wound like that (in his _pretty_ face!). Again Malik smirked and pinched his nose.

"You're really lucky that I know someone who is excellent with stuff like this, kid."

"I'm twenty-five, you know…" He shouldn’t worry about being called a kid, but he didn’t like that and Malik didn’t seem impressed by his words at all.

"Congratulations you aren't a pup, you're a young dog, boy. Now get up and shave and I'll get you some clothes in the meantime. It's about time to let you look like a human being again." He motioned to the sink and to his own razor and shaving cream like he was just an old friend. Normally people weren't as generous as to let anyone use their razors, but Altaїr was glad Malik was. He yearned for shaving his face for weeks now! When he was alone again he jumped into motion and finally (finally!) shaved his face again. He felt like a new person as soon as his face was smooth again, even though he looked much younger like this and with his unruly messy hair. He didn’t care much, but he could hear Malik's voice rambling somewhere in the house. Probably he was talking on the phone to some of his friends or that ominous guy who would sew his wound shut. He wasn’t really fond of needles and he wasn’t really fond of someone poking needles in his face.

Altaїr was awake for nearly two hours when he finally laid down again. Malik had guided him into his guest room, he gave him clothes and he gave him food. He dressed his wounds carefully (especially careful he was with Altaїr's bloody foot when he bandaged it) and tucked him in after he was finished eating the delicious soup the one-armed man had made. They didn’t talk much during this whole ordeal and Altaїr was grateful. He really had no bigger interest in talking or thinking at all, but now he was lying in this warm and comfortable bed and Malik sat at his bedside staring down on his phone frowning.

"What's wrong?" He mumbled sleepily. He felt the fever creeping up behind his forehead and dulling his thoughts and senses slowly. Malik looked at him in mild surprise like he expected him to be asleep the moment his head would hit the pillow. Well, he wasn’t.

"Leonardo is running late. He messaged me that he is stuck in traffic. I would rather not have to wake you up again when he arrives." Malik was a caring man, that was for sure and Altaїr never expected a soldier to be a caring type of guy. He only knew the violent side of those vile men. He only knew them to be yelling and screaming and kicking people they thought to be lower around. He only knew them hurting the poor women in the streets when their animalistic instincts kicked in and took the better of them. But Malik was a father not only to his son but to his brother and he seemed to be that kind of guy who couldn’t stand seeing people suffering. Perhaps his heart was too big for his own good.

"Then keep me awake until he arrives. I too would much rather sleep through the day and not be woken up again as soon as he arrives to poke needles in my pretty face." He hoped his grin was smug with those words, but he didn’t really know. Probably he looked more like a confused squirrel than smug, but Malik just smirked at him and laid his phone on the bedside table. The room was small and contained only this bed, a small dresser and the bedside table on which stood a lamp and that was about it. It was warm and cozy and it was more luxury than Altaїr had seen in years.

Only for a small moment, Malik watched him with that smirk, but then his face turned serious again. "Well then tell me why you'd fled Syria in the first place." He began, but Altaїr furrowed his brows ever so slightly.

"I bet you know why." He then slowly replied. "I bet you and those friends of yours already checked my background. I bet you know why I had to escape and sell my soul to the devil for my own survival." He simply couldn’t believe a man like Malik wouldn’t look him up. Malik chuckled a little.

"You're right. Well, at least I would have looked you up if I knew your last name. Altaїr isn't a much-used name in Syria, but there are quite a few so without your last name it really had no sense to look you up and check your profile. So tell me. Listen, I won't force you, Altaїr, but you really should tell me in consideration that I let you stay at my house and took care of you although I have a small child and a teenager around who could be endangered by your presence."

Malik didn’t seem like the type of guy who couldn’t protect his family even if they were in danger because of Altaїr. No. "Are you trying to make me feel remorse for endangering your family with _coming_ here, although I don’t know how I got here?"

"Maybe." Malik replied swiftly with a leisure gesture of his right hand, which Altaїr could not really grasp. His brain was too slow to pay attention to his words _and_ his gestures. "Well?"

Altaїr moaned and turned in the bed until he was lying on his side and facing Malik fully. He flung is thin arms around the pillow and nuzzled his nose deeper into the fabric. The bedding smelled heavenly like lavender. For a small moment, he closed his eyes and really was about to drift away before he forced himself to pry open his eyes again. "I was persecuted in Syria." He mumbled and although he didn’t look at Malik, he knew the man was rolling his dark eyes.

"Yeah, that much I guessed." He replied dryly. "But what for? What was your crime that you needed to escape?"

A slow and tired chuckle escaped his dry lips. What his crime was? What was anyone's crime nowadays in a country like Syria? "My crime was that I wouldn’t let myself get used as a puppet and that I stayed as I was and that I spoke up and told people my opinion." He stated and the ghost of remorse flickered through his eyes. He was so dumb back then. "I thought I was invincible. I thought I was _so_ clever and that no one would ever catch me or find out about my dirty little secret."

"What secret?"

"I wrote a blog on the internet during my first years of college. I was studying journalism and photography – I was a clever guy, real smart and a guy whose head was too big for his shoulders. I wanted to follow my father's example and dreamed about telling people in the world the truth about that war in my country. I didn’t want them to close their eyes against our reality in that country. I wanted to create awareness in the stupid believe someone would come and help. Well nobody came to help other than the army and they didn’t do much, to be honest." Malik didn’t even look like he wanted to protest. "My people were left alone pretty much and so I decided it would be a really good idea to write that blog – obviously anonymous because those terrorist don’t like opinions other than theirs all that much. So I became the infamous _eagle of Masyaf_ and wrote about the terrorists and their plans. I took photos of the people dying in the streets for the whole world to see. At first, it was harmless and nobody really tried to find out who I was and with exception of a few haters, there wasn’t much negativity concentrated on my blog or my person. No one knew that it was me who stood behind that blog and I took great care it would stay like this. But then I became too big for my boots and I decided it would be an even greater idea snooping around and spying on the terrorists. At first, it went pretty smooth and that gave me confidence in my work but with spreading that delicate information about the terrorists around on the internet I drew the attention of those more and more to my blog and it really didn’t take all that long until they found out who I was. But of course, that wasn’t the official reason why I became a wanted person."

"What was it?" Malik then asked carefully but he sounded like he already knew. Well, Malik said he was stationed in Syria before he got wounded; he probably grasped something about him during that time.

"Well officially I was wanted by the police – and of course the terrorists – for being gay and doing gay propaganda at my internet blog. Stuff like that. Those people can be really creative when they need a reason of hunt someone down and if they want help from the people for that. Soon my face was all over the news and I had no other choice than to run away and try to hide. For those last years in Syria, I never stayed long at one place. I had no other choice than traveling from Masyaf to Acre, to Jerusalem, to Aleppo to basically everywhere. Sometimes I tried and hide at some of my last remaining family members, but of course, they knew why I was being hunted and … I guess you can imagine how they treated me most of the time. My uncle Yusuf was the only real exception and of course my grandmother. They didn’t give a flying shit about my sexuality or something I might have done on the internet."

He avoided looking at Malik for now because he was afraid of seeing the disgust on his face like he had seen so many times before. He still knew how his aunts treated him. They liked to call themselves Christian-people but it was quite a wonder they didn’t stone him themselves. He was treated like an animal by his own family, never allowed to sit at the table with them, never allowed to play with the remaining children of the family, never alone to be alone with any man or the kids. Yusuf was the only friendly face he'd seen in the longest of times and now he was probably dead. Now his eyes met Malik's for a brief moment, but he couldn’t see the disgust on his face, only pity and that was even worse. But Malik straightened his face and posture and sighed.

"People are stupid." Malik stated matter-of-factly. "I was raised in this country and still people are stupid. They say the US is a liberal country and that we are all so very much open minded and tolerant towards gay people or people from other countries, but they aren’t. You'll hear mothers telling their children it's no matter if they were gay or straight and that they would love them nonetheless, but as soon as their kids really come out of the closet they turn into monsters. It's not only Syria, it's like this everywhere in the world but in Syria, it is still a crime, which is to be punished. People are stupid." But Malik didn’t seem to be one of those stupid people. "So you are the famous _eagle of Masyaf_." There was a small smirk on his face and Altaїr just nodded curtly. "I've read your blog back then when I was still stationed there."

Suddenly he didn’t feel tired at all and his eyes grew huge. "You did?" He only managed and Malik chuckled softly.

"Yes, I did. I was stationed in Syria for five years after my first few years in the military. I started young, right after High School and I was an excellent sniper at that point. So I had quite a few years reading things like your blog in my spare time thanks to my phone. I must say you were talented, but I thought you were dead after your blog suddenly was removed from the internet. I was sure they got you and killed you for spying on them. I thought _what a pity, another great mind lost to the world_. But that was 6 years ago, how did you even manage to survive that long?"

Altaїr thought he heard some kind of admiration for his survival, but he was probably imagining things. "I guess I was lucky." He smirked. "My grandmother hid me for a while. Of course, those people knew I was living with her, so her place wasn’t a good place to hide. I didn’t stay long, but I traveled from city to city and hid by former friends of my parents and family members but stayed never long at one place. Mostly I was living on the streets or hiding in some deserted areas of the bombed cities. It really wasn’t easy, but after a while, I made it back to Masyaf because my grandmother fell ill and I was afraid she could die alone. I hide there for over a year and stayed mostly in the basement of her house like a prisoner. She had this woman that would come to help her with things and she mustn’t see me, I only came out when it was late and when we were alone in the house. After a year the woman came to my grandma and told her that the terrorists and the police knew that I was hidden in her basement. She probably knew the whole time that I was there and she and my grandma helped me escape, she even bought me a ticket for the bus so I could get as near as possible to the city my Uncle Yusuf and my Aunt was living. It was only a year ago that I finally had enough money for Talal so I could get on the boat to the US."

"What about your parents?"

"Dead." Altaїr sighed. "My mother died when I was a few months old. She was a nurse but the hospital she was working in was bombed and she died between the rubble. My father was a diplomat, he traveled a lot but mostly he left me with my grandmother. He had no real family of his own and my grandmother was the only member of my mother's family who was neutral and who didn’t hold a grudge against him for taking her daughter. Later he was killed for doing his job. My father expressed his opinion wherever he could. He stood behind his words and he tried to do good for his people, so he was hunted just like I was later. He died when I was eleven."

"How?"

"Beheaded in the middle of the street. The terrorists really like that kind of public display. If it wasn’t for my father I would've either die that day too or they would have made me to one of their kid-soldiers, but my father protected me and managed to find a hiding spot that was big enough for me. After that, I traveled back to Masyaf to where my grandmother was living and stayed there pretty much until shit went down."

Malik ruffled through his hair and took a deep breath. Stories like his weren't new for an ex-soldier like Malik and Altaїr was not naïve enough to believe it would be the first time Malik heard something like that. He didn’t like to talk about his childhood and those things that happened during the last year until he came to the US. He really liked to forget his entire life to start new, but he couldn’t.

Malik opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then he shut it again and leaned back in his chair a little. He looked out of the window like he was deep in thought that moment and Altaїr had no clue what it was that he was thinking. He felt tired and exhausted after telling his life story to a stranger, but sleep wasn’t granted because in the moment he closed his eyes again the doorbell rang and told stories of the arriving healer.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_He felt sick. No, he_ was _sick. His head hurt and the world around him was blurred every time he blinked and tried to look around. His whole body felt like it was in flames and in the same instant, he felt cold and shivered. His body would not listen to his commands anymore and his legs felt wobbly with each step he slowly took. His eyes were fixed on the broad back of the man walking in front of him. He let go of his warm hand just moments ago and already missed his presence and warmth. It was his father walking ahead in the burning sun across the crowded marketplace. It was hard not to lose him between all those people and the shouts of the merchants bellowed loudly in his little ears. Altaїr was incredibly tired and exhausted although the day was still young and although they only left their shelter a few hours ago._

_"Altaїr, come on hurry up, kid." Umar's voice sounded after he threw a look over his shoulder to where his son was walking. He reached his hand out and Altaїr took it after he hurried up to his father's side. He was afraid of losing him in the crowd, but the warmth was nearly too much to bear. His forehead was sweaty and damp, his cheeks flushed and his eyes fogged. Fever held his little head in a tight and crushing grip. There was no way to escape the illness and Altaїr saw the worried look of his father before the man grabbed him and picked him up on his back. "Are you tired?" Umar asked softly and smiled a little at him, but Altaїr shook his head._

_He knew his father was sick too and he knew his father was just as tired as he was and Altaїr did not want so strain him any further. He did not want his father to be weak just because of him. "I can go on, baba." He mumbled quietly, but Umar only laughed._

_"Yes I know you can, you're a man, but I want to carry you like I used to when you were as little as a coconut."_

_"I never was as little as a coconut." He pouted and finally folded his thin arms over his father's collarbone and rested his chin on his shoulder._

_"Yes, you were! Your mother aaaaalways lost you! She ran around the house yelling 'Umar, Umar, Altaїr is gone again! He is so tiny I can't find him!' and then I would go with her to search for you and you would sleep in a shoe. That's how tiny you were."_

_"Now you're just making things up." Altaїr replied quietly but could not help but grin a little._

_"You think so? Well, then I guess we will just ask grandma when we arrive at her place and then you will hear it from her too. She was always afraid she would sit on you because you were so tiny she could hardly see you lounging on the sofa."_

_"Maybe she just needs better glasses. How long until we're there?" Altaїr really tried not to whine about stuff and he really tried to not make any problems or stress his dad even more. He knew the situation there were in. He knew there were bad men coming after them, although he did not know why. His father only told him those people did not like what he said to them and now they searched for him. That was three weeks ago and since then they were traveling from city to city. They left Jerusalem and went from there on back to Masyaf to where he was born and to where his grandmother still lived. Of course, his father would not tell Altaїr the whole truth. Umar was not dumb and he was no liar, but he did not think that his eleven-year-old boy already understood what was really up. Altaїr knew about the terrorists and that those people did not just want to pick a fight with his dad. He had seen it in the news whenever his dad had not been around to turn off the television in time. Altaїr knew about the reality of his country pretty well, no matter how hard his father tried to shield him from all of that so his innocent little mind would not get stained and so he would not need to live in fear._

_He had asked his father why they would not take the car, the train, or the bus to get to Masyaf, but his father just said it was more fun that way and that they were going on an adventure. The truth was his dad's cards were blocked, he was searched not only by the terrorists but by the authorities as well so he could not use his documents anywhere. They had not much money on them anymore and they were hungry and sick. Umar took care that Altaїr would eat even if it meant he needed to hunger for his son and Altaїr hated this so he would eat just a little and then say he wasn’t hungry and his father would look desperate and devastated because he knew Altaїr knew. Umar was a proud man and he was ashamed that he could not provide for his little son as he used to._

_"Not long." Umar replied with a small cough when they left the market and entered a smaller shady street with not so many people around. "Maybe two more days, but then I'll promise we'll be there and grandma will cook your favorite dinner."_

_"You said that before." Altaїr replied although he did not mean to. It was mean and it was unfair and his father deserved better. Altaїr bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes a little. Umar kept his silence until he moved his hands to Altaїr's little ones and pressed them gently._

_"I promise you, eaglet. Soon we'll be there and then all of this is going to be over and all will be alright again, okay?"_

_Altaїr nodded just a little and felt his father's hand in his short brown hair. They walked in silence like this for a while, but the heat made him dizzy and at some point, Altaїr could not take it anymore. "I feel funny baba…" His hoarse voice was already a little whine and he could not help it. He was hungry and he was tired and his brain felt like it was fried in his head._

_"I know, eaglet. Don’t worry I'll find us a place to hide from the sun and then I'll go find you something to eat and medicine, alright?"_

_Again, he nodded but he could not stifle the small sob that finally escaped his dry lips. "It hurts baba. Please, I do not want to go on anymore. I want to go home. This is not fun at all. I want my bed and I want to go back to school to the other kids and to my friends."_

_"I know, eaglet." He replied again with all the patience he could muster. "I want to go home too, but we can't, okay? Just be brave a little while longer and then everything will be alright again."_

_"You're always saying this but nothing ever happens! I have enough of this, baba! I want to go home! You always lie to me!"_

_"What do you mean? I'm not lying to you Altaїr."_

_"Yes, you do! All you do is lie, lie, lie! You said we are going on an adventure but we are fleeing from the people that did not like what you said! Auntie said you would be the doom of our family because you cannot shut up and now you are being chased by those people for the things you said! It's your fault that we need to run away all the time!" He was being unfair to his beloved father and a part of him was glad he could not see his face, but Umar said nothing about it, he only grabbed his little hands tighter._

_"I'm sorry, eaglet." He then finally said and his voice was hoarse and cracking, even though he tried to sound brave and strong. "I am so sorry. If I would have shut up about my opinion we would not be in that situation, you are right. However, Altaїr, listen, you should never - not_ ever _in your life shut up about your opinion only because people do not like what you have to say. You have a bright mind, Altaїr and someday you will understand and someday you will have a different opinion about the things going on in the world and this country and please - **please, Altaїr** \- never let anyone shut you up because they do not like what you say. The freedom to speak our opinions, the freedom of speech and the freedom of our own minds are the greatest gifts humanity received and no one has the right to take that from you. But I am sorry nonetheless. I should not have dragged you into all this mess. I should've left you with your aunt or with uncle Yusuf."_

_Altaїr felt terrible for hurting his father like that, but the damage was done and all he could do was being loyal to his dad, listening to what he said, and being brave, so he shook his head no. "I'd rather be with you, baba…"_

_He was spoiled, that much was true. His father had money, they had a big house, a big car, and they had everything a child could dream of. His father would never deny him any wish and spoil him rotten that was something Altaїr knew. He was a spoiled brat because his father was afraid he would not be enough for the little boy although he was. He was enough and Altaїr loved him to death and someday he would repay his father._

_Suddenly there were loud voices behind them and his father cursed under his breath before he started running. He ran through the small street they were in and darted into another much darker, but the voices followed them and their thundering steps became louder and louder. Umar managed to swipe into a smaller alley without them seeing him and ran around another corner where he finally stopped and Altaїr knew why. He was too heavy for his father to run. They could not go on like this when they wanted to escape and Altaїr could not run anymore. His legs were too short to keep up with his father and he was too sick to even try. He noticed how his father looked around hastily until finally, he hurried to a dark corner where a bunch old baskets and boxes stood. There he sat Altaїr down again before he hastily began assembling the boxes around his boy._

_"What're you doing baba?" Altaїr asked confused while his dad built the wall around him. He knew what his dad was doing. Of course, he knew._

_"I'll come back for you, okay? You'll hide here until I come back to get you, right?" Umar's voice was nothing more than a hushed whisper before he looked over his shoulder, the voices and steps were getting louder again._

_"No! No please take me with you I'm scared!" There were tears pouring down his face, but Altaїr did not really notice them that much and he did not care that much either. Boys do not cry and all that bullshit, but he did cry and he did not care! Umar leaned over the boxes and kissed him. First, he just kissed the crown of his head, then his hands cupped his face and he kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose and his cheeks were the salty tears left stains on the dusty skin._

_"I love you, Altaїr. You know I love you, right?" A small nod was all Altaїr could force himself to. "I love you so much, Altaїr. I will never let anyone harm you. But now you must hide and you need to trust me. I will come back for you and I will get you and then we will go to grandma and she makes you your favorite dinner. I promise."_

_He stifled the hiccup in his throat with great care, but then he nodded and watched his father retreating from his hiding spot before he ran. His father was a liar and Altaїr knew that. He knew he was not lying because he wanted to hurt him, but to protect him but nonetheless his father was a liar. Altaїr saw the men running out of the alleyway and following the road his father took. There was silence for a while, then yelling again, then the screams of a man, but Altaїr only pressed his hands to his ears so he would not hear it. He did not want to hear his father begging. He wanted to remember him as the proud man he used to be. His father had run straight into a dead-end - that was something Altaїr would learn at some point._

_After a while, he could see the men coming back and made himself smaller behind the boxes. They were not running anymore. They dragged his father with them like a sack of potatoes, back into the alley, back into the crowded streets of the city. Altaїr could see the glistening steel of their swords dangling by their hips while his father only hung in their grip unconscious. Altaїr wanted to leave his hiding spot and run after them to free his dad and run away with him, but he promised to stay and wait._

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"So what are you people – you and your _friends_?"

They were in the kitchen and Altaїr watched Malik cutting some vegetable for the dinner. He would help, but he was forbidden. Altaїr sat wrapped up in a thin blanket and still in his pajamas at the kitchen table, an old book in front of him. It was Charles Dickens _'Great Expectations_ – He loved that story, for his dad had read it to him every other year at Christmas, even though they did not celebrate Christmas. His father really liked to grab him at December 24 to snuggle with him on their big couch and tell him about how he met his mother many-many years ago in December – on Christmas Eve like she told him back then. That was their way of enjoying a holiday that was none in their country (at least not a religious one). They did not buy each other stupid presents just to follow the western traditions, they rather cuddled on the sofa and spent the day together as much as possible and even now – so many years after his father's death – he really liked to remember those days.

Back then he felt at peace with the world and even though it were only the two of them left, even though he had no mother, their house was full of love and there wasn’t much that Altaїr would miss by growing up only with his dad. He had been mother and father at the same time and he adored him for that – just like he adored Malik for raising Tazim by himself.

"I would need to kill you if I would tell you." Malik said with a very serious voice, but when he glanced over his shoulder at Altaїr he grinned ever so slightly at him and gestured towards his book. "Go on, keep reading."

There was another thing Malik had in common with Altaїr's father – he liked to torture Altaїr with reading out loud. Altaїr always hated reading out loud even in school, because his voice was not firm and certain when he did. He really loved to read, but he stuttered often when he was forced to do it loudly and now he hated it even more because the book was written in English. Altaїr sighed and lowered his eyes on the white pages again. The letters were blurry and danced in front of his eyes. He had learned to read Latin letters and how to write them in school as well as how to read and speak English (at least a little) but it was still hard to him reading a whole book like this.

"So you are some kind of special forces of the army? Some super-secret agents of the government or…?" He could not help it, even though he did not want to annoy Malik in any way after the man helped him so much a few days ago. It was three days since he got here and today was the first day he was allowed to leave the bed at all. Leonardo – the man that had come the first day to stitch him back together – visited him this morning with a concerned face and thick worry lines on his usually relaxed and cheerful face.

_"I would rather not have you leaving the bed already, Altaїr, but I guess I can't stop you." The man sighed. "Let's make a deal, okay? You will stay warm and you do not do anything at all. No walking around, no standing for too long. Stay close to Malik so he'll hear you if something is wrong, you are still weak."_

And weak he was. After Leonardo left, he jumped out of the bed and nearly collapsed on the floor right away. It was frustrating for an active guy like he was to just sit or lie around and do nothing at all other than reading and talking.

Malik took a deep breath before he turned around and walked towards the table. There was a slice of orange between his fingers and with a slight smile, he pushed it towards Altaїr who took it and shoved it into his mouth like the good puppy he was. That certainly was a way to shut him up, but Malik did not intend to feed him with orange slices now, he just grabbed the plate on which the rest of the fruit laid and put it down next to the book. "You need the vitamins." He simply stated before he turned again to cutting the vegetables.

"So you're not going to answer me?" Altaїr asked carefully- very carefully.

"No I am not going to answer you." Malik chuckled.

"But that's hardly fair, is it? I mean come on! I shall help you and those unknown force behind you and I cooperated already pretty good, haven’t I? I think it is only fair that I get at least a little bit information of what's going on." It was even more frustrating not to know what was happening around him or what people stood behind Malik and this _operation_ against Talal.

"You are right, you know? You deserve to know what's going on, but I can't tell you anyway."

"Why?"

"Because it's dangerous for you to know more than you already do. No, we are no super-secret agents of the government and no, we are no special force of the military. I already said I turned my back to the military after they let me drown. Those people I am with now gave me this arm and a new purpose in my life and the chance of raising my boy and provide for Kadar's education. I can't say much about _those people_ , but I can tell you that I was bound to be a part of them by birth, just like Kadar is and like Tazim and we don’t speak about that kind of stuff with an _outsider_." His voice remained calm and not a bit annoyed because of Altaїr's constant nagging, but he also sounded a lot like he wanted to talk about that stuff.

"What happens if you do tell an outsider?" Altaїr finally asked after shoving more orange slices into his face. His split lips still hurt like hell and Malik sighed again, but turned around so he could lean with his back pressed against the kitchen counter.

"We are allowed to talk about it with just one person outside of the group." He explained vaguely amused. "Just this one person and only after discussing it with the others first. We are no secret sect or cult, just so you know, but we need to protect us against our enemy's and maybe we are a little paranoid."

"So you _are_ allowed to tell me."

"No."

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said, Altaїr. _One person_. There are only a few possible outcomes if I would tell _you_. You would either be killed right away or you would be captured and locked up forever or you would need to join us or you would need to marry me."

"So you're wife knew about all this?" Altaїr asked slowly.

"No, she didn’t. I was in the army when we married and only after her death, I joined _those people_. Of course, I was destined to join them eventually at one point in my life and my father prepared me for that day like he prepared Kadar and like I will prepare Tazim, but it was my free will to finally join them after leaving the army."

"What if I would want to join them?"

"You wouldn’t and you won't. It is not that easy, Altaїr. You do not just fill out an application letter and send it to them. It is a long process, you would be tested and if you will not be worthy, you would be killed right away. Believe me, it is better this way for you and your future life because now you _will_ have a life – do not waste it. When all of this is over you will be free and you can go wherever you like. Do not chain yourself to something you do not yet understand. You should rather fly and not break your wings forever."

Altaїr couldn’t really read his dark brown eyes and he was sure Malik didn’t intend to let himself be read by someone like Altaїr – some stray cat he took in. He did not sound sad or rueful like he would regret his decision to join _those people_ , but he did not seem like he would want that for anyone else, maybe not even for his own family.

"So you'll expect me to swallow this _explanation_ and forget about all that stuff as soon as I am free to go? Am I a prisoner right now? Is that why I am here?"

"No you're not a prisoner in my house, you are here for your own good and you are free to leave if it is what you want to do. I will not stop you even though the others think it would be better if I did. I don’t like capturing people, but trust me it would be better if you would stay at least until you are fit enough to not collapse after leaving the bed."

Without his reading glasses, Malik's eyes were even sharper and his looks more intense. He was a weird guy, to be honest. He was often frowning about something that only happened in his head like it seemed. He was a very serious person that rarely smiled, but he was a different person when he was around his son. Altaїr liked him, though he still did not know why and he still had not told Malik that he thought to know him. Perhaps it would be better to keep something like this to himself. Altaїr slowly leaned back in the chair and pulled his blanket tighter around himself.

"So this Leonardo-guy is also a part of _those people_?" He asked carefully but Malik only grinned at him and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"No, he isn’t. Leonardo is the one and only exception for all this. He is something like a neutral member of our community and takes care of medical stuff and … other stuff. "Malik smirked before he turned again to his task of preparing their meal.

"So it is possible for an outsider to become a part of your group." Altaїr tried again but Malik just moaned.

"No, it's not. It is a special case with Leonardo and I would be grateful if you would drop the topic already. Go on with your reading, you need to practice your English! Your pronunciation is absurd and we need to work on your stuttering." Malik waved the knife he just picked up again at him, but Altaїr did not feel threatened. If Malik were to hurt him in any way at all, he already would have done so. For a moment, he watched the man's back a little and how his tight back muscles moved under his shirt. Altaїr really liked seeing him in his usual suits, but he liked it, even more, seeing him dressed casually like this.

"So what happens now exactly?"

"You really like bugging people, don't you? "Malik sighed but did not turn this time and before Altaїr could even bother himself to answer that, he spoke up again. "So here's the deal. I won't tell you exactly what is about to happen, but I will tell you _something_ at the very least." And Altaїr immediately shifted all his concentration towards Malik and what he was about to say. "We managed to smuggle one of our men inside the warehouse to spy on Talal."

"Rauf." - Of course Rauf. Altaїr was not stupid and he hated when people thought of him as stupid. It was like his father once said, he had a bright mind. At least he wanted to believe exactly that for his father told him so.

Malik stopped dead in his track and turned again towards Altaїr but this time with an even brighter grin in his face. "Rauf, yes." He chuckled and Altaїr felt somewhat offended by this. Did he really think him to be _so_ stupid not to notice?

"So it was Rauf who searched through Talal's office that night." So it was Rauf who was responsible for his punishment that night. Altaїr remembered the night when he was rescued from the back room just vaguely, but at least now he remembered again the hushed voice repeating the same words over and over again while carrying him through the snow-covered streets. "And it was Rauf who brought me here."

"Possible. I didn’t see him doing it and I haven’t heard from him for quite a bit now."

"I believe he had been there to watch me?" Altaїr then asked, but Malik shook his head.

"No. The others know that I had contact with someone inside the warehouse, but I never told them it was you and to be honest I had not thought you would change your mind to work with us, so no, this was not about you. Like I said before in the soup kitchen, we are planning on getting Talal's ass for quite a while now. It would have been way easier if we could use you for this but since you didn’t want to cooperate it was Rauf's turn to try."

"So no matter how I would’ve decided in the first place I would be just your puppet." It was quite obvious that it was like this, but he was not angry because of it. He trusted Malik although it was naïve and stupid, after all, he did not know a single thing about that man. He would not tell him what he really did for a living or what that group was doing or planning. What if they were the far greater problem than Talal and people like him? What if he sat in the devil's pit and waited for his end? He trusted him anyway and he felt incredibly ridiculous for this. On the other hand, his instincts never betrayed him and he had not listened to his instincts when he got on Talal's boat for the fate that awaited him in Syria had not been any better than this.

There still was the feeling of familiarity, the bond he could not quite define yet.

"Yes." Malik finally replied after a small pause, which led Altaїr to believe he would not answer, but he did answer and Altaїr was glad he was honest with him. After this Altaїr grabbed his book and began reading again.

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Malik Al-Sayf was not straight. Malik Al-Sayf was not gay either. He grew up knowing that there is more to the world than black and white and that the truth often lies between. His father once told him, when he was still a child and did not really understood, that nothing is true and everything is permitted. He said those words over and over again and Malik had a hard time understanding them, but when he did it was like a revelation for the boy he once was. His father told him that he, Malik, was the architect of his own life and future and happiness. He was born free, his father said, but the society would try to shackle him and break his wings and that the biggest crime he could ever commit was to let himself be shackled and his wings to be broken.

So it was not quite a surprise to Malik when he noticed he did not favor a gender when it came to the matter of sex, as soon as he hit puberty. He had been afraid because he was raised in America and he saw and heard the things people said about gay people and he learned that there were countries in the world where gay people still were punished for being gay. He had been terrified, he had thought himself to be a burden and disgrace to his Syrian family, but then his father, Faheem Al-Sayf, had grabbed his young and first-born son, hugged him close to his chest, and told him again that nothing was true and everything was permitted. That was the day when Malik finally understood the true meaning of the creed his family was living by and that was the day when he learned that the humanity didn’t just try to shackle him and to break his wings but that most people broke their own wings and shackled themselves to the ground with labeling themselves ad straight, as gay, as asexual or whatever. There was more to the world than black and white and the truth had many, many different shades and often lay in-between.

Malik would lie if he would say he had not noticed the way Altaїr looked at him sometimes. Of course, he knew the man was gay, at least Altaїr did not deny it after he told Malik about his flight and the reasons he was searched for. And Malik would also lie if he would say Altaїr was not attractive to him and pleasuring for his eyes. He still was thin and weak, but he was attractive nonetheless, even with all those scars covering his lean body and the hollow of his cheeks. Since his wife's death, he had not been with anyone again, because he had been consumed in his own misery of being kicked out of the army, of losing his arm and his wife and the duty of raising his son and his teenage brother all by himself.

His parents were long gone and still, his father's words were what guided him through each and every day and this was the reasons he finally decided to let the brotherhood in his life to follow in his father's footsteps. Of course, a presence like Altaїr's was enticing for a man so long abstinent of sex or really anything romantic at all, but Malik kept the control over his body, mind, and desires anyway.

He had other things to worry about then this man in his house and the shape of his body when he wandered around his home and followed him like a dog because he did not know what else to do with his newfound freedom. Malik could see in his eyes what he thought of him and that – if Malik would allow – he would show his gratitude for the help and safety in a different way than doing the dishes or helping with the laundry. To know that this man would go down on his knees to pleasure him freely was even more tempting. But every time he caught himself imagining something like that there would be his little son calling for his attention somewhere around or Kadar looking funny at him.

It was not like Malik would deny himself this pleasure because of his son and brother, but because he knew it would not be right to use Altaїr like that in a situation like his. No matter what Malik might say and how much he denied that Altaїr was his prisoner, the fact that he was still stood. Malik did not shackle Altaїr to the house and he would never break his wings so that he could never fly away again. The thought alone disgusted the ex-soldier greatly because it was against the creed he was living by since his birth and because what his father once said. Still, Altaїr was his prisoner anyway even though it was not Malik who chained him to the house but the boy himself who bound himself to Malik in a sense of gratitude and in fear for his life. As soon as all this would be over and as soon as Altaїr would understand that, he could leave and would not need to fear for his life anymore, he would go and never look back again. He would forget Malik and he would try to forget really anything that happened in the past. He would start anew and this was exactly what Malik wished him to do. He deserved nothing less than being free again.

So no, it wasn’t because of his brother or son lurking around somewhere in the house and watching his every move, that Malik won't try to get close to Altaїr, it was to protect himself from being left behind and his heart from being broken again.

"Would you please just fuck him already and stop staring at his ass every time he walks by?" Kadar's voice startled him. So much in fact that Malik nearly dropped the knife he was cutting onions for dinner with and when he looked at him there was just this sly grin on his brother's face that he hated so much. Kadar was not stupid (of course, not the boy would go to Harvard soon and he was Malik's brother so there was no way for him being stupid) and of course he noticed Malik's demeanor towards this man who was currently in the living room with the four-year-old.

It was kinda cute watching the two of them together because Tazim was eager to teach Altaїr English and he made a really good job it seemed because Altaїr really made progress since he _arrived_ at their home nearly two weeks ago. By now, Malik's whole house was covered in sticky notes with English and Arabic on it so Altaїr could learn the vocabulary that he would need in order to learn the language and Tazim would refuse to speak Arabic with his student stubbornly. At least Tazim was a way more patient teacher than his father was. And it was hella cute when they would have dinner together and when they would force Altaїr to talk English with them. He sure was a brave guy and he sure wasn’t the shy type or anything like uncertain of himself, but when he was forced to use his new found skills he was a stuttering and embarrassed cute little mess with pink cheeks and red ears.

"I have no clue whatever you mean by that, brother dear." Malik said before he went back to his task of cutting the onions (which brought tears to his eyes, though he would never admit it) while Kadar stood by his side to cut some tomatoes for the salad.

"Yes, I bet you don't." Kadar chuckled and nudged him in the side but Malik only pointed the knife threatening and on the same instant playfully at his little brother with a small grin in response. Kadar was such a happy little guy and Malik was not sure if he wanted to see Kadar at some point as a member of the brotherhood. He would lose a lot of his happy-go-lucky nature as soon as he would become a novice that was for sure. It would change him, because it changed Malik and because it really changed everyone and change were not always good. "It's kinda obvious that you _like_ him, Malik, so what's the big deal? You're both adults and by the way, he is looking the same way at you, even though he doesn’t stare as obvious at your ass like you do."

Malik did not even bother feeling ashamed or letting his cheeks turn pink. Like Kadar said he was an adult and so he could admit being horny for that guy even though he would not say it. "I don’t think this is any of your concern, Kadar. Shouldn’t you be preparing for your exams instead of worrying over your big brother's sex life? Besides it is better to draw a line in a situation like that. He is not our friend or a long-lost cousin living in this house until he got to his feet again and you know that pretty well, Kadar. He will leave as soon as all this is over."

"But you don’t want him to leave. You got used to him being around and you can see from the orbit that you like each other, though I do not really understand what he likes about you. I bet it's not your grumpy face." Kadar said and he was much more annoying as Altaїr could be with all his questions about the brotherhood or their plans. It sometimes really was hard not to answer him. Not because of his puppy eyes he would flash or because of his constant nagging and curiosity, but because Malik really would like to talk about all this with him – really with anyone outside the brotherhood. "You could ask the others and the grandmaster to make an assumption for him and include him into the brotherhood. It was done before and why shouldn’t it be done again?"

"Because there are _rules_ , Kadar and those rules are not meant to be bent or broken. They exist for a very good reason. You know the rules, right? Father taught you just like he taught me." - Just like he would teach Tazim when the time was right. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see how Kadar rolled his big blue owlish eyes towards the ceiling before he began to recite bored.

"Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent." He said in a low murmur. "Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the brotherhood. Nothing is true and everything is permitted. I know the creed, Malik, however, I am no member of the brotherhood. I really know the rules and I know that they were made by a bunch of old grumpy guys like you hundreds and hundreds of years ago."

"But you were born to become a member of the brotherhood in time." Malik added swiftly without lifting his eyes from his current task or bothering himself with acknowledging how Kadar ended his answer. Perhaps because Kadar was right. Perhaps because the creed really was antiquated like that and not adaptive to their modern times as it was all those hundreds of years ago.

"But I don’t understand what the creed has to do with involving Altaїr in your life or the brotherhood or at least dragging him into your bed – not that I find pleasure in the imagery." He made a face but Malik did not look at him in the slightest. "The creed doesn't forbid to love anyone or to have sex with anyone. The creed just tells you to be cautious and careful with whom you are going to trust enough to get him involved, right? And that is a good thing! But you should not deny yourself pleasure or happiness because of the creed. After all, mom wasn’t a member by birth, dad made her one, right?"

" _Never compromise the brotherhood, Kadar_." Malik repeated with a stern face and furrowed brows. "We don’t know his reaction when it comes to those things and I don’t want to provoke killing him and by that harming an innocent and by that violate the creed." That was not the whole truth. The whole truth would be that he was, in fact, afraid Altaїr could resent him if he would learn about the true nature of Malik's _work_ and that he would deem him a monster, but it was enough for his brother for now and even if it was not, Malik's ringing phone in the right front pocket of his jeans interrupted the brothers anyway.

There were only a few people that he given his number to and since Kadar stood beside him and Tazim (who hadn't a phone) whom he heard laughing from the living room over something Altaїr did, it was quite clear that it was someone of the brotherhood. _Ezio_ told the display and with a slight frown Malik accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear.

"Safety and peace, Ezio, how can I help you?" They only saw each other hours ago at the bureau when they discussed the upcoming raid on the warehouse. Malik would not be with them tonight no matter how much he would like to. He would stay put and wait so he could have an eye on Altaїr and more important so he could have an eye on his family. The others did not trust Altaїr and perhaps they were right about it, but his instincts never betrayed him (yet they did when he deemed a harmless kid a terrorist and lost his arm because of that mistake).

"Safety and peace, Malik." Replied Ezio's deep-deep and thick accentuated voice through the phone. "Is everything alright at your place?"

"Yes. We're preparing dinner."

"Where's he?"

"He plays with Tazim in the living room. Do not worry I will have an eye on him tonight though I do not think he would try anything. He doesn't know about the raid anyway."

"That's good to know. I do not need to tell you that some of the others do not trust him, so just … just keep an eye on him tonight and be _prepared_. I will call you when all is over. For now, I have to go, Connor is getting impatient. He just came back from his latest scouting tour around the docks. He stinks like he crawled through the canals again, which he probably did. I have lost all hopes for that boy and Leonardo is furious. You should see the carpet."

Malik chuckled although he did not feel like it. He was nervous although he would not be there to get Talal's ass personally. Every mission was different no matter how experienced you are as a soldier or as an assassin and he liked that. Falling into a routine, trusting on your personal and inner autopilot makes life dangerous and uncontrollable even though you feel like you are in control (which was the most dangerous part of it all). He knew his brothers were very much capable of getting to Talal and pressing the information they needed from him before they would either kill or capture him, but still, he was cautious and nervous. He did not wish Ezio luck before he hung up because luck was not the right thing to wish in a situation like this. He could only hope everything would go as planned without any of the innocent people getting hurt. He would give his … well not another hand, but really a lot to be with them tonight. For months and months he was after Talal and tried to gather information to make a move at him, but now he would sit at home and babysit.

It was for the best – he knew that – but it did not really feel like it was for the best.

Shortly after dinner, Kadar excused himself to retreat to his room so he could learn a bit more (or rather chat with some girl on the internet) and after Malik put Tazim to bed it was only Altaїr and him in the living room downstairs. For a moment Malik stopped by the door and watched the boy who engaged himself in reading again. Still Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_ for he had not really made much progress during those last two weeks. With a soft sigh, Malik seated himself next to Altaїr on the ground. He already noticed that the boy often preferred to sit or even sleep on the ground often huddled up in a thick blanket and a bunch of cushions he stole from the living room like a bird building a nest. He still had not adjusted to his new circumstances or he tried to _not_ adjust so he would not miss a real bed when he would leave this place and go back to live on the streets again. Malik knew it was a common thing for homeless people to behave like that or falling back into old patterns shortly after they managed to get to their feet again.

"You like that book a lot, don’t you?" Malik said after a while. The television was on, but he did not really look at it. It was not interesting and Tazim probably forgot to turn it off. There was still some carton on. Malik was no fan of putting his kid in front of the TV, like many young and overwhelmed parents would, but he allowed it every now and then. "I mean there are a lot of other books in the house which are way easier to read than this, but still you won't put it away."

"I don’t like throwing in the towel." Altaїr simply stated and slowly raised his eyes from the book to look at Malik's face. To see a smile on his face was rare and mostly he would smile when Tazim was around, but his eyes remained cold most of the time. Well no, not cold, reserved was the better word and Malik really could not hold it against him. He had seen the wounds on his body, had seen the blood and knew Talal's methods and knew what people he employed.

"So I've noticed." Malik chuckled and leaned his head back against the sofa. It felt nice sitting so close to him on the ground, just mere inches between their bodies so he could still feel the warmth radiating from Altaїr's body.

"My father often read it to me when I was a child and I found it to be quite odd. I would not say we were rich people back then, but we had everything one could wish for and I did not understand what poverty was so I did not also understand Pip's situation in the story. Now I understand and now I can relate to him. My father often said it was necessary to have great expectations for your own life because when you do not, you will not be able to do anything at all. You always need to work on yourself so you will get better and better with every time you try something no matter how hard. I guess that is what Pip did in the story, right? He kept working hard on himself and his abilities so he would become a true gentleman one day and rise above his raisin'. He stumbled on his way a lot, but at last, he did it. Perhaps I can make it too one day. But for that I really need to read this book, so no, I won't give up just because it is hard to read it like this, because when you waste your time just doing easy stuff you won't get better."

For a moment Malik was silent and maybe even a little impressed. He knew from the beginning that Altaїr was a fighter because otherwise, he would already be dead. He would not have survived for so long first in Syria, then on the boat and finally under Talal if he would not have the spirit of a true fighter. It was not really a surprise that he would fight his way through this book and then through his life if necessary.

Still, he was impressed.

"Your father was a wise man." Malik finally said and ruffled through Altaїr's hair although he normally avoided physical contact with the boy if it was not necessary (for obvious reasons). It felt soft under his fingers.

"He was." Altaїr sighed. "And he was a good man. Unfortunately, good people only rarely get what they deserve."

"For now that is right. I think we can only hope that things change someday and benefit the _good people_. But I guess that's kinda unrealistic, right?"

"Right." Altaїr sighed again. "After all we humans are still the worst predators of all and we are prone to chaos and destruction. The human race will be the end of its own I guess. Someday someone will inflict something that will end us all and still humanity will try to blame another; the sun, the universe, god – really anything but themselves."

"I guess that's true." Malik smirked and then there was silence again and Altaїr tried to concentrate on his book again. Malik could see the small crease between his eyebrows deepen with every line his eyes devoured and with every word that let him stumble. When they reached the point that Altaїr was frowning at the book Malik picked it from his hands and began to read it to him – of course in English – while his finger followed his every word over the pages so Altaїr would read the words and hear how they were spoken. He never liked that book much, but he read it anyway for Altaїr and the boy did not protest.

Malik's voice was a little deeper every time he read something out loud, Tazim loved his reading voice and Altaїr did too it seemed. He noticed how he relaxed at his side and after a small while Altaїr's head dropped against his shoulder but still Malik did not stop reading. He only looked down at his head a little and saw that Altaїr's eyes still were open, but he did not question him or retreated from the sudden body contact. It felt nice, to be honest. In fact, it felt way too nice to allow it at all. After all Kadar was right (even though Malik would not say it like he would) he wanted to fuck that guy – but of course, Malik Al-Sayf would find better and more gentlemanly words for it.

Instead of protesting he wrapped his right arm after a small while around his shoulders although that meant he could not point at the words anymore. Altaїr did not seem to mind and Malik did not either. He played a dangerous game he knew that but he could not withstand either. For a small while, he just enjoyed sitting like that with Altaїr by his side while there was still some colorful kids movie on. After a while there was only the light of the small lamp by the sofa and the flickering of the TV dispensing just enough light to read, but his eyes began burning because of the bad light and when he again looked at Altaїr the boy had his eyes closed and his breathing was deep and pregnant with sleep. He looked cute like this and the shadows drew lines underneath his closed eyes and the shadows of his long lashes danced over his skin.

He did not want to stand up and he did not want to wake up Altaїr. He felt comfortable even though his back hurt from sitting like this on the ground, so he slowly put the book away and placed his glasses on top, before he grabbed the blanket that always lied on the sofa to wrap him and Altaїr in it. Malik knew he should feel awkward sitting like this with a stranger like Altaїr, having his arm around a stranger's shoulders wrapped up in a blanket in the dark, but he did not. Slowly he rested his head back against the sofa and extended his legs while his eyes drifted towards the TV.

There was something really odd about Altaїr and to be honest he felt like this right from the beginning. Perhaps this was the real reason why he invited him into the Starbucks after their first meeting and perhaps this was the reason why he did not kick him out immediately when he stood in front of his door and why he wanted to meet him in the soup-kitchen. It was true, the brotherhood had committed itself to never harm an innocent, but that certainly did not mean they should invite someone like Altaїr into their homes. But Malik thought he would be a good candidate to get information about Talal they will not get otherwise as easily. But the truth was, since the beginning of two weeks ago, there was the slight but very demanding feeling that he knew Altaїr from somewhere – and really him and not his blog.

He had been a very enthusiastic reader of the blog back then in Syria and he had thought the writer to be much older than Altaїr had been back then. But in reading his blog he had not felt this familiarity he certainly felt right now. There was something about Altaїr he knew, but he could not place his finger on it and that would drive him crazy for certain. Maybe he used this feeling of familiarity as an excuse to be so close to the boy and cover up his simple sexual needs. He was still just a man – father or not. But still, there was something odd about him.

Before Malik closed his eyes he looked at his wristwatch. It was half past eleven by now and that meant the operation would start any minute now. His phone had been silent since Ezio's last call, but he had it in his pocket ready to answer it as soon as anyone would try to reach him. He could do nothing but close his eyes and think about those brave men who would now try and stop Talal. It would work, that was for certain. Malik was sure it would work, their plan was flawless and he couldn’t wait to tell Altaїr that he was free, finally free … but on the other hand, he didn’t want to tell him at all, because then Altaїr would spread his wings and leave.

The warmth at his side was a strange sensation when Malik finally drifted into sleep. He would miss it when Altaїr was gone even though it would not change anything, but Malik was sure the boy would leave an empty space somewhere in his mind and heart, ridiculous as it was. They were no friends to start with and they certainly were no lovers. Altaїr felt more like a brother in the way they sat here, no matter what Malik felt he would like to do with him.

Malik was startled over an hour later abruptly from his sleep when the doorbell rang. It took him a long moment to realize that Altaїr slept at his side and then another long moment _why_ he slept at his side and why it was that he appeared to be so peaceful. Only when Malik freed himself from the body to stand up Altaїr's eyelids fluttered open again, but Malik already left the room to answer the door before the person outside could ring again and wake his son or his brother. Malik was a cautious guy. Of course he took great precautions that his enemies (which he certainly had because of his _work_ for the brotherhood) won't knew where to find him and his family, but still, there were sturdy locks on each door leading outside and still he flashed a small glance through the spy hole of his front door. He was confronted with Ezio's angry face pressing close to the spy hole like he knew Malik stood on the other side.

One of his precautions included the necessity of never (not ever) letting one of his brothers inside or even near his house. They met in secret in the _bureau_ every day and there they worked most of the time and planned what needed to be done. He had never been to any of the others houses and that Ezio was here now let his stomach drop because it meant something went wrong. Still, Malik unlocked the first bolts swiftly and with practiced ease before he finally pulled back the chain and opened the door for the Italian who barged in immediately with an angry snarl like an angry bull. There was blood on his face but he did not seem to be wounded. He still wore his black uniform and brushed his black hood impatiently back off his head, a gesture that revealed the ponytail he always wore. He was older then Malik but shorter and just slightly bulkier than him and his brown eyes flashed dangerously at him.

"Where is he?" Ezio spat, but lowered his voice like he just remembered Malik was not living alone. The blood on Ezio's face had clumped in his slight beard around his jaw line and the angry twitch to his mouth made the scar on his lips just all the more prominent. "Where is that rat, Malik?" He asked again while Malik tried to remain calm and closed the door behind Ezio. When Ezio himself came to his house shits going down, that is for sure.

"You mean Altaїr?" Malik simply asked while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He knew it would not make much sense to argue with Ezio for coming to his place like this now and he was not in the mood to argue either.

"Yes! Of course, I mean him. Where is he?"

"What's wrong?" Malik had not heard the approaching footsteps that were coming from the living room and neither had Ezio as it seemed, for he was just as surprised as Malik. Altaїr had this extremely light-footed way of sneaking around. He was like a cat most of the time and if you are able to surprise an assassin you better be a cat or another assassin.

Ezio's reaction was way faster than Malik would have expected. Ezio was a man prone to anger and sometimes had a bad temper, though mostly he remained his cool now that he was older and wiser, but not today. He barged forward when he spotted Altaїr by the door of the living room and Altaїr jumped back a bit, but could not prevent himself from being grabbed by the collar of his shirt just to be yanked forward against Ezio.

Altaїr was a little taller than Ezio, but when it came to power he was clearly in an inferior position. His face was full of fear and so were his eyes but Altaїr did not make a move to fight against Ezio. He was a smart man; he knew he had no chance against Ezio. "How did you do it?" He growled and now it was Malik's turn to barge forward and grab Ezio so he could drag him away and get between them.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He growled and just faintly heard a door being opened upstairs before he thrust Ezio towards the kitchen. If it was Tazim who was woken by the noise downstairs then the boy really should not see Ezio in their house. Altaїr still looked shaken when Malik grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him (with little resistance) with him. A second after he saw Kadar standing at the stairs, giving him and Altaїr a puzzled look. Malik just motioned for him to retreat and look for Tazim, before he pulled Altaїr into the kitchen and closed the door tightly behind them.

"What's wrong?" Ezio replied in a hushed whisper but still with cheeks red with anger. "Talal knew we would come, that's wrong. _Someone_ told him!"

"It wasn’t me I swear!" Altaїr exclaimed as quiet as he could but instantaneous while Malik only felt how the blood was vanishing from his face. "I don’t even know what's going on!"

"Yes, he couldn’t tell anyone even if he wanted, Ezio. He has been with me the whole time and I never told him about tonight, you must be mistaken. What happened exactly?"

Ezio looked down at his watch but then just ground his teeth. "Doesn’t matter. We have no time; the others expect me to be there in a bit. You can come with us, Malik, I will not stop you and you have all the right to come with me, but I need to take _him_. If he hasn’t told Talal about the operation he has nothing to fear, but the grandmaster wants to see him anyway."

 


	6. Chapter 6

_It was a bright day when Umar kissed his wife gently at the door. "You sure you can handle him?" Maud asked with a soft smile. She really was a beautiful woman with her thick, dark locks around her pale face and her bright blue eyes and Umar Ibn-La'Ahad still was glad he managed to get her to date him, even though his best friend always told him he should give up. It had not been easy to get her attention but he managed it nonetheless and the day she accepted his proposal was the happiest of his life. No, the happiest day of his life sure was the birth of his first son who was lying in his little cradle in the living room sleeping soundly._

_Today was the first day of work for his wife after the birth of their son and Umar knew most men in the neighborhood (and most women) looked at him puzzled for he would let her go back to work after she became a mother. That was not the way things were supposed to be in a marriage. However, Umar did not really give anything about the conventions of his religion for the simple reason that he did not practice that religion and for the reason that he married a Christian woman – much to the protest of her extremely conservative family. He couldn’t really hold it against them, for the first thing Maud's father said to him was that his daughter would never wear something like a hijab or_ worse _and his simple affirmation that he won't force her to do something like that or to turn her back to her religion hadn’t soothed her family in the slightest._

_They had not been at their wedding over a year ago and it broke his wife's heart._

_They married under Christian traditions and Umar did it so he could assure her family of his intentions to not change anything at all about his wife and chosen mate. He loved her dearly but to see her so crushed when she learned they would not attend their wedding had been heart-wrenching. But still Maud married him and she turned her back to her family, at least to her father and mother for her younger sisters had not had another choice than staying away from her wedding. At least her sisters called when they learned about the pregnancy, even though they would not talk to Umar even when their lives would depend on it._

_He was used to it by now. During their first year together, he had been hurt and angry for their behavior towards him, but then he tried and brushed it off like dust for only Maud really counted in his life and for his best friend and his wife who would always support him. Still, it had not been an easy journey._

_"Of course." Umar chuckled and gently brushed one of her dark locks behind her ear and smiled. He tried to memorize her in that exact moment, standing in the open door and the sun in her back shining at her hair in a halo of light. She was an angel that was the first thing he thought when he laid eyes on her the very first time years ago. "What can go wrong? I bet he will not just explode like a bomb when I touch him, right? Don’t forget, love, I attended all those parenting classes and I've read all the books_ you _haven’t read. I am prepared for the worst and for every diaper that needed changing and for every bottle that needs to be prepared."_

_She laughed and the sound of her laughing filled his heart with glee and love for her, then she kissed him again. It was just a slight brush of her lips against his before she took a step back. "You need to shave." She chuckled and finally turned to move towards the car in their driveway._

_"Have a nice day!" Umar just called after her and waited at the door until she was in the car and left the driveway. When she drove by, he waved at her and saw just vaguely how she blew him a kiss. Not until the car vanished behind a corner, he retreated into the house. There was a small noise from the living room telling him his son finally was awake and wanted attention. So Umar hurried to the living room and stepped close to the cradle. In the background, the television was still on, after he forgot to turn it off. He liked to hear the morning news from the TV when he would sit and have breakfast in the kitchen next door even though Maud would always roll her beautiful eyes at him for this habit and tell him he could as well just turn on the radio in the kitchen. It wasn’t the same._

_"Hey, buddy." He greeted his son softly when he saw his bright amber eyes flashing at him from inside the cradle. His wife had been a little bit disappointed when his eyes changed their color from blue to this brownish-golden color a month ago. She had hoped his eyes would stay blue and to be honest Umar felt the same way. He would've loved his son to possess his wife's beautiful blue eyes, but oh well! Maybe the next one would._

_Altaїr only made a little gurgling sound at him and wiggled in his cradle like he wanted desperately – so desperately – to get out and_ do _something. He was an active little guy even though he slept a lot and they were fortunate to have a baby that won't scream much during the night. Mostly he just cried when he lost his pacifier and wasn’t able to get it back alone. "How are you're doing, eaglet?" Umar asked when he carefully grabbed him and lifted him to his arms. Altaїr melted almost instantly against his body like he knew exactly who he was and like he really wanted to cuddle. Perhaps he really wanted that. Umar cradled him gently and brushed his fingers through the brown locks on the little head and felt his little fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. Just to check Umar felt for his diapers and made a face at Altaїr. "Looks like you need a new diaper, no?" He laughed. Sometimes it was a little bit disturbing how deep Altaїr slept and that he won't even wake up when his diapers were full. Like the boy didn’t give a shit … quite literally so._

_"I bet you just waited for you mama to leave so I would need to take care of it, right?" And Altaїr made again that squealing little sound that he loved so much. After he changed, his son's diapers for the first (but definitely not the last) time of this day Umar sat down on the sofa again, Altaїr still resting comfortably in his arms. He looked a lot like he was lounging there as if he owned the place and like his father was just a mere servant in his kingdom. They really needed to be cautious when it would come to spoiling the little guy. But for now, Umar enjoyed the peaceful moment of having his son in his arms and feeding him with his favorite bottle. To look after a baby wasn’t all that hard, it would get a lot harder as soon as he would grow up and start to run around. He was a curious little guy – already – and it wouldn’t become any different as soon as he would be old enough to understand and do more. Still, Umar was excited and couldn’t wait to teach his boy all the things his father taught him._

_When his phone rang he could only moan and rather would have ignored it, if it weren't for Altaїr who certainly felt disturbed and really frowned at his father, so Umar grabbed for the damned device and didn't waste a second to look who was calling. He knew. He always knew when his best friend called._

_"How's it hanging there, Umar?" Came the booming voice through the phone and Umar could almost hear his wide smile and almost feel his warm eyes looking at his face. He missed him greatly and maybe he should’ve followed him together with his wife._

_"Good. Chilling with Altaїr on the sofa, watching TV. You?" It was about 9 AM in Syria so it was something like 11 PM in the US he guessed. In his office, he had two clocks, one for his time zone and one for the time zones his best friend now lived in. It really had been a sad goodbye so shortly after Umar's wedding with Maud, but he could understand that his friend needed to make this move. It was much safer in the US for him and his family and he felt dumb that he didn’t do the same._

_"Just finished some work. Adha is sleeping already so I was bored-"_

_"And so you decided to disturb your only friend in the whole wide world, right? Altaїr looks like he is pissed with you, just to let you know." He chuckled when he pressed the phone between his left shoulder and his ear after he noticed Altaїr was finished with drinking and put the empty bottle away so he could lay him over his right shoulder and gently stroke his back._

_There was a small hiss on the other end of the line as if his friend hurt himself (doing something stupid again) and then a very pained noise. "Oh no~" He whimpered. "Please beg for mercy for me, I promise to never disrupt the little prince's sleep again."_

_Umar couldn’t help but laugh which made Altaїr apparently even more angry judging by the small noise he produced that sounded somewhat like an upcoming cry, but Umar only kissed his head (which wasn’t that easy with the phone and the baby and no free hand) and prevented his ears from getting violated like that pretty easily. "Oh don’t worry he was eating. He is not like_ your _son sleeping all day long like a king. Altaїr has a lot of work to do today."_

_"Does he now?"_

_"Of course! He already began his day very productive with a full diaper, now he needs to burp, then he needs to bathe and then he needs to play with his annoying father." Umar grinned. It was quite funny how the topics of their conversations changed since they had kids. Years ago – before his friend became a father – they talked about pretty different stuff, politics and a lot of work related things but now they liked to talk about diapers and bottles and baby powder and toys. It was ridiculous and Umar was very aware that their wives would often laugh about them when they all would talk on the phone or via internet together._

_"Poor thing." His friend chuckled. "But that's not why I'm calling."_

_"Yes, that much I already guessed." - Because he knew his friend for the entirety of his whole life now. He could read his mind even miles apart._

_"It's because of the work, Umar. I was asked again to talk to you. They still want you here. Syria is a lost call and you know that pretty well, why not come to the US with your family? You would be much safer over here and our sons could play together."_

_"Your son is almost five, dear friend. Do you really think a five-year-old child would play with an infant?" It was a cheap way of buying time and they both knew that. "I can't do it. Maud has her family here and even though they don’t have contact anymore, she still loves them and wants to stay."_

_"Yes, I know that, but you also know that she would follow you nonetheless for the safety of your family. Do you really want to raise Altaїr in a country torn apart by terror? What if something happens? You are not really a discreet guy, Umar and we both know you have many enemies out there for the things you say. What if someone attacks you and your wife?"_

_"Then you will come and get Altaїr, for you are his guardian and then he will grow up in the safety of the US, but as long as I am alive I can't leave my country behind like this. Maybe you are right and maybe Syria is a lost call and I understand why the others are saying that and why they left the bureaus behind, but I need to stay and at least try to do something good for this country. It's my duty and when I can reach out to just one single person then my efforts aren’t wasted." Altaїr was quiet on his shoulder again and finally made the long awaited little burp before Umar lowered him again to his arm. He looked sleepy again. Must be exhausting being tiny like this._

_"I really wished you wouldn't be so stubborn Umar." The man sighed, but then something caught Umar's attention. The stupid talk show that was running was suddenly interrupted by the breaking news and instantly he grabbed the remote to increase the volume._

_"Wait a moment, there's something on the news." He just informed his friend and listened to the anchorman. "Another terroristic attack. The bastards bombed a hospital." And then, when they showed the live pictures from some helicopter flying over the bombed building his heart nearly stopped and he dropped the phone._

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Altaїr had no chance of deflecting the punch to his face and it almost threw him off the chair he was seated on and chained to. His wrists laid flat down on the armrests tightly chained to the wood underneath and his ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair so he couldn't move at all. _No one will harm you_ , Malik said when they got here, but the truth was that some darkly dressed figure grabbed him instantly when they left the car and dragged him to this chair with brute force.

After they left Malik's house and got into the big black car of Ezio waiting by the end of the street he had been blindfolded – not by Malik, but by some other guy sitting in the backseat of the car, just so he wouldn’t know where they were going and how the building would look like. But Altaїr was pretty good when it came to orientation and he felt every little bump on the road that told him the story of where they were going. He tried desperately to memorize every top and turn the car made. He trusted Malik (at least somewhat), but he didn’t trust those men in the car.

Inside the building when the guy he was dragged by ripped the blindfold off his face he was blinded by the shrill neon lights before he was thrown in this room that looked somewhat like an interrogation room in the movies would look like. The whole ordeal was just a confusing mess of voices and noises and movement and light and colors until he found himself chained to this chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room. The room wasn’t bigger than some kind of storage room with plain white walls and the same white tiled ground like the hallways of the narrow maze he had been dragged through. There was no window and only a narrow metal door that led outside in one of the many long hallways.

There was a big guy (like really big) standing in front of him, dressed in black clothes with tanned skin. He had an even bulkier stature than Ezio and was a lot taller than he. When he brushed off his black hood he was even more intimidating. They guy had dark, angry eyes and his hair were neatly shaved into a Mohawk so that just a small strip of black hair remained wand was tied back in a ponytail on the back of his skull.

There was blood running over Altaїr's face, from his nose. At least the wound on his lips hadn’t split open again. This was just a small comfort, but oh well it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to getting beaten and punched in the face.

"Answer me already!" The man growled again, but his head hurt and he already had forgotten his question again. Something about a raid. Something about Talal.

"I don’t know what you are talking about." Altaїr replied with gritted teeth when he stared at the man enraged. He looked intimidating, yes, but he didn’t look like a bad guy or that he was constantly running around and punching people for no reason. He looked infuriated. People that hurt other people just for the fun of hurting weren't infuriated like this. The man raised his fist again. "I really don't! Malik didn’t tell me anything I swear to god." He was no one for begging. He never begged (not for his life at least and not to prevent himself from getting beaten up). And he would most certainly not beg now in this room when he was confronted with this stranger and without anyone telling him why he was here. Something about an ominous grandmaster who wanted to meet him, right? This guy didn’t look like a grandmaster but more like the man you would call when things got rough.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" The door was thrust open when Malik barged in and didn’t waste a second to stomp towards the chair Altaїr was chained to. Altaїr could see how Malik grabbed the keys from the man's belt without any protest of the big guy who finally lowered his fist and took a few steps back. "Connor for fuck's sake why did you punch him? We don't torture!"

Malik was furious when he first unshackled Altaїr's ankles and then moved to his wrists. The man – Connor – again took a step back closer towards the door and suddenly looked more like a big puppy – but there was still anger in his dark eyes when he stared at Altaїr.

"The Boss said I should if he won't answer. Rauf was shot for god's sake and just because _someone_ told Talal we're coming. "Connor growled and crossed his arms in front of his bulky chest. For a brief moment, Altaїr could literally feel his stomach drop. Rauf was shot? Of course, he didn’t really know the guy. They were no friends and he had nothing to do with the man but he had met him and to hear he was shot was like being showered with ice water. He was no emotionless monster.

He felt Malik's hand resting comfortingly on his shoulders when he was behind the chair again, but Altaїr wanted to shake them off. He didn’t. He wasn’t ungrateful like that. "Rauf's okay, Connor. He had seen worse and _you_ need to control your anger. The _boss_ will be here any minute now and I believe he is very much capable of interrogating Altaїr by himself and _without_ violence."

Connor didn’t say anything to this. Instead, he turned to the door and left the small room. "I'm sorry." Malik said quietly behind him before he wandered through the room and leaned his back against the wall close to the door. "I didn’t know he would punch you."

"And I guess you didn’t know your friends would drag me around like a dog without telling me anything, right? Tell them they speak too fast, I can hardly understand them."

"I think you understand them pretty well Altaїr, you have troubles _speaking_ English, not understanding." Malik sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest but didn’t make a move to help Altaїr with the blood in his face; instead, he looked mistrusting at him. "Did you tell Talal?"

"I didn’t know anything for Christ's sake!" Altaїr moaned and wiped with the sleeve of his shirt over his face. "You won't tell me anything how should I have told him something I don’t know? Do you really think I would help this guy in any way? I don’t even know what's going on because you refused to talk to me about all of this!"

"It's for your own good, Altaїr." Malik sighed with a small frown on his face, the very same frown that his son possessed too even though it looked much cuter on Tazim.

"I don’t think it's for my own good being bullied around by your mysterious friends. Just tell me what's going on!"

He saw how Malik opened his mouth – probably to _not_ answer him – but when he did the door opened again and this time an old man entered the room with quiet and slow steps. Altaїr looked at the man with fury in his eyes and a snarl on his bloody face but he didn’t make a move to stand up or brace himself for any more beating, when he spotted this one guy again – the one that raided Malik's home an hour ago (although Altaїr had no clue how much time really passed) – standing at the door and holding it open for the old man to enter. He didn’t follow him after he saw Malik so he closed the door again. Altaїr was sure he would wait outside for the old guy and his friends would sit in a small dark room and watch them on tape. He couldn’t see a camera, but that didn’t mean there was none.

Like all the others (except for Malik) the man wore complete black clothes, a suit to be more correct and not that strange uniform with the pointed hood the others wore. He didn’t look like a man who still participated in missions like the others. He was probably too old for that kind of shit. His hair was already white just like his beard was. He looked very well groomed and somewhat _vain_ in the way he stood just a few feet from him in his black polished leather shoes (some Italian fabricate probably) and his suit that almost _reeked_ from expensiveness. His cravat looked like it was made of silk and there was a small needle pinned to it with a strange symbol that looked a little bit like an A with a C dipped to the side laying under the A like a bowl or something. The most catching thing about the old man was his blind right eye and the big scar covering this side of his face. His blind eye starred soul- and mercilessly at Altaїr. This was the stuff nightmares were made of and Altaїr remembered briefly this one story of Edgar Allan Poe he read in High School. In the _telltale heart_ , there was that poor bastard who was driven insane by the sight of this one guy's blind eye until he murdered him and buried the body underneath the floorboards. He could understand him now. He would go mad if he needed to see something like this every day over and over and over again too.

His face looked old but it wasn’t covered in wrinkles so his age wasn’t that easy to tell. He could be in his sixties but he could as well already be in his seventies or eighties! No one could tell (and that drove him even crazier). He could’ve looked like an old very nice and sympathetic man (like grandpa playing in the park with his grandchildren) but he didn’t because of his stern, somewhat pale face and the scar over his eye and the massive beard. He looked more like a mafia boss than a grandpa and that loud neon light didn’t lessen the effect in any way at all.

"So that's the boy you took in, Malik." The man then spoke in Arabic and his voice filled the room. Malik didn’t seem startled or intimidated in any way whatsoever by his boss but his face remained emotionless and serious when he nodded.

"He is."

And Altaїr already knew this man knew everything about what he told Malik. He knew _who_ he was and _why_ he was at Talal's but he would question him nonetheless. "What's your name, boy?"

For a moment Altaїr remained silent but he didn’t look at Malik and instead just stared at the _boss_. "Altaїr." He then replied with a low growl. "And I believe you know that pretty well, just as well as you know that I've worked for Talal during the last year until I was nearly killed by him and his men because of _your_ spy snooping around in his office. I believe you know that this spy – this Rauf – brought me to Malik's place to stay there as his prisoner. I also believe you know about me right from the start two weeks ago when Malik and I first met. I think it's obvious that I believe you engineered this first meeting after watching and evaluation me for a while. I think I was somewhat like your best candidate to infiltrate Talal, right? What a pity I didn’t play along."

For a moment there was silence and then a small chuckle from the old man. "I like him." He turned to Malik. "You have a bright mind, young man. You are quite right that we watched you. We watched all of Talal's workers on the streets and we have spies in his brothels and factories, but we needed someone in this damned warehouse, someone who is close to this man to get enough information about him and the people behind him. It's no use of killing one man that will be replaced by another just seconds later."

Altaїr really wanted to say Malik would look surprised, but he didn’t and it was no surprise for him as well.

"That you won't play along really was a blow to our plans but not critical. We already planned on getting Rauf in there but it would’ve been easier this way. Rauf didn’t act in our name when he brought you at Malik's place to get well; it was because his human nature and his conscience told him to. You should be thankful otherwise you would be dead right now and your organs would already been sold. Rauf happened to stumble upon a list in Talal's office on which was already written out in exact detail where your organs would go to and what sums he would get for it."

"Yes I'm so happy I would dance on a table if there would be one in this room." Altaїr snarled and clenched his jaw a little.

"What is your full name?"

"What does it matter?"

"Well, I like to know to whom I'm talking to and I believe you didn’t even tell Malik your full name, for now, right?"

"It is not important. There is no family of mine left in Syria or anywhere else and no one you could get to press money from or whatever you want to do. I am alone in this world so my name has no worth for you and your _people_." He spat the last word like it was something sour in his mouth. "I would like to learn _your_ name because I also like to know to whom I'm talking to and who told this Connor-guy to punch me if I would not cooperate enough."

"My apologies for that. The young Kenway has the same bad temper like his father and grandfather I believe. I am known in the brotherhood as _Al Mualim_." He bowed his head.

"But that is not your name." Altaїr growled. Brotherhood? What was that weird sect Malik was in?

The man chuckled again at him. "No, it is not. My name is Rashid ad-Din Sinan."

"You're from Iraq, right?"

"Yes, that is indeed right. I was born in Basra but I lived in Syria for the most of my – well – my _younger life_ before I left and moved the brotherhood to the US." The man replied patiently and didn’t appear to be in a hurry in the slightest. "We watch Talal and his men for years now and try to stop this man and those people behind him."

"What is this _brotherhood_?" Altaїr asked. He wanted answers and he wanted them now no matter what a grimace Malik made. Altaїr already was sure to not get outside alive because Malik already told him that there were no outsiders allowed. They would probably kill him after they got all the information they needed. Perhaps it was for the better like this. "Are you something like the mafia?"

"We are assassins." It was Malik speaking now before he cleared his throat. "The assassin's brotherhood is hundreds and hundreds of years old." And before Altaїr could open his mouth to ask further questions or even process the news Malik continued. "Our duty is to protect the freedom of the people and to protect them from our enemies and from being restricted and controlled. People like Talal."

"But Talal is only a small little cogwheel in the overall picture and that is exactly why this mission had been so important. We-"

"Wait." Altaїr interrupted and raised one hand. "You are an assassin?" He turned towards Malik and noticed how much the man tried to remain as calm as possible and just like they were discussing dinner. He nodded. "Like in those movies? You run around and kill people for money?"

"Those are contract killers." Malik corrected dryly and clearly offended by the question.

"But you run around and kill people."

"I don’t run around and kill people, Altaїr. But I, in fact, killed people - that is right. We don’t do it for money, we do it for the greater good and to stop people like Talal because the authorities are either powerless against them or they affiliate with those bastards. Our cause is as old as history, Altaїr and I don’t think this is neither the right time nor situation to discuss that. But yes I am an assassin and so was my father and my mother and his father and so will Kadar and one day even Tazim be. That was what I meant when I told you that I am destined from birth to be a part of this."

"But you were a soldier."

"Exactly and I am still but now I don’t fight in the name of some corrupt government anymore but for the people and the innocent."

"So the assassins are the _good_ ones, is that what you're trying to tell me?" Altaїr couldn’t help but make a grimace at this. Malik sounded rational about all this but all brainwashed people sounded rational and certain like this, right?

"There really is nothing like good or evil, nothing like black and white on this earth, Altaїr. The truth lies between those two and is often hard to see." He leaned back against the wall again and Altaїr's attention shifted back to the old man who just listened to their exchange until now.

"We need to find out about the men pulling the strings behind Talal to get rid of them so people like Talal won't slip through the cracks so easily and that is why we needed someone inside." _Al Mualim_ – Rashid, whatever – continued. "But the mission failed. Talal and his handymen got away before our assassins arrived and Rauf was already shot. Of course, we managed to get those poor people out of there but Talal's office was already cleared and the documents destroyed. Something went wrong; someone told them about our plan at least that is what Rauf said."

"But why should I have done this? I _want_ Talal to get his ass kicked after all he and his men did not only to me but to the others. I bet Malik told you anything about my injuries so why should I warn him?"

"Some or two of the others are saying this last punishment was staged and that Talal instructed you to inflict the house of an assassin. _We_ watched you so why shouldn’t _he_ have watched you too? He could've known that you were in contact with an assassin and it is most likely he knew Rauf is an assassin and that he would try to save you and bring you to Malik's. Rauf stated it was weird how easy it was to get you out of there. You could be just as well a spy as Rauf was."

"Yes, I could." Altaїr said and stifled a small sigh. "But I wasn’t and that is the truth. I can't tell you anything about all this because I didn’t know about all this. Please feel free to hook me up to a lie detector if you don’t believe me. I have no idea who warned Talal but it wasn’t me. I would love to see him and his men burn for what they've done."

Altaїr had no clue what he should or could say to convince this Mentor. He didn’t think that Malik didn’t believe him, but he needed to convince this man in front of him and that seemed to be the hard part of his current situation.

"Well, I do believe you, boy." The old man then replied dryly and with a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth nearly invisible behind his beard. "After all you are the son of Umar Ibn-La'Ahad and I can hear him speaking through your mouth."

For a moment Altaїr just looked at him like he misheard what he said. He was quite certain he had misheard him. It was not possible that this man knew his father. The world sometimes was small, yes, but it must be an extremely coincidence or twist of fate when he met a man like this who knew his late father. "How do you know that?" Altaїr growled. There was just that one chance: the guy looked him up. He somehow found out his last name and looked him up.

"You look like him." The man replied but Altaїr only rolled his eyes.

"That is the most ridiculous and stereotypical answer you could possibly give me." He snarled and leaned back in his chair with crossed arms like it was him interrogating the mentor, but then he noticed Malik's facial expression and the look of utter disbelief that flashed over his face for a second.

"You mean _the_ Umar, Mentor?" The dark haired one-armed man turned towards his boss with furrowed brows.

"Umar was one of our brothers when the brotherhood still had a branch in Masyaf. The message of his death reached me a few weeks after. Of course, we knew he had a son called Altaїr, but we couldn’t find you and we thought you to be dead too." The old man said and held his gaze fixated on Altaїr's face like he tried to read from it and Altaїr knew that he already lost control over his facial expression. Had his father been an assassin? But he had been a diplomat! He hadn’t been a murderer! He had been the nicest man he ever knew!

"I don’t understand." Altaїr finally muttered.

"Even your name is written in the chronic." Malik then breathed and dragged a hand through his face. "I should've noticed right away. I am sorry Al Mualim."

"There is no need for remorse Malik, after all, he is not the only being on this planet with this name. It could’ve been a coincidence, but seeing him now in front of me I recognized him immediately." The old man said and someone would’ve said there was something gentle and warm in his voice when he spoke about him, but Altaїr didn’t hear anything warm and gentle at all. He didn’t trust the old man. There was something in his good eye he didn’t like. He was like a snake sneaking around to bite them when the time was right. It was no coincidence that he was here now, at least that was something Altaїr was most certain about. Perhaps Malik hadn’t known but the old man did and pushed him into the right direction. But why? Was it just because he needed a puppet he could control with the ability to get close to Talal and had he hoped he would gladly obey when he heard his father was a member of the brotherhood once? Or was there something different on his mind? Altaїr noticed the look the old man threw at Malik. It was strange and Altaїr didn’t know what to make of it, but there clearly was something on his mind.

He should be cautious. "My father was a diplomat, not a killer – or an assassin." He then spat. Altaїr was no one for black-and-white thinking. He was none for judging people by their work or their cause of action as long as they didn’t hurt innocents, but he didn’t know a thing about this brotherhood and their reasons and there was still the child inside of him that didn’t want to believe his father could’ve been a bad man. His father wanted to help the people of their country and that was why he was killed. "He died because he fought for freedom and free speech and because he said things the government and the terrorists didn’t like." His voice was but a low growl when he showed his gritted teeth to Al Mualim even though he hadn’t intended to.

"That is right, Altaїr. Your father died because he fought for the freedom and the freedom of speech and of course he died for the things he said, but all the more he died for being one of us and for drawing the attention of that damned Templars to him and his family. Do you really think the government and the Templars wouldn’t have watched you all those years? They knew all those years that it was you standing behind that little internet blog, but they didn’t care as much until you crossed a line."

"What Templars? What the fuck are you even talking about old man?" He jumped up but Malik didn’t make a move to restrain him at all. Judging by the fact that this old man said he was an assassin (even more so judging by the title he possessed - the _mentor_ of the brotherhood) he must be very much capable of defending himself.

"Now is not the right time to speak about all this."

"Oh, I think it is exactly the right time!" Altaїr yelled. He couldn’t help it. This guy implied that his father lied to him his entire life and wouldn’t tell him anything at all! "I want to know what you are talking about!"

"Altaїr." Malik's voice was dark with a low growl and his eyes piercing when he looked at the younger male but Altaїr didn’t even flinch.

"No Malik! I want to know everything! You can't drop a bomb like this and don’t tell me anything! I am neither puppet nor a pet!" And he was fed up with all those lies and excuses. He wanted – no he _demanded_ the truth and he demanded it _now_ , even though he as very well aware of his position in all this and that he was in no position of demanding anything at all.

"You are right to demand answers, young man, even more so because you are one of us just like your father before you, but now there are other things that need mine and Malik's attention. We need to discuss tonight's events with the others and as soon as you get _home_ Malik can tell you all that you need to know." The old man bowed his head again ever so slightly, but Altaїr didn’t believe that gesture for a second even. He had no other choice than wait and he knew that pretty well. Screaming wouldn’t help him. He could throw himself to the ground and start a temper tantrum, but that wouldn’t help a thing at all.

 _I am not one of you_ , he wanted to say. _My father wasn’t one of you_. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat down on the chair again and threw a dark and gloomy look at Malik before he and _Al Mualim_ left him behind in the little white room.

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The events of last night were but a blur when Altaїr found himself in the kitchen of Malik's house with his book lying in front of him. He had read the same page over and over again ten times by now and he still had no clue what was written there. It was in the early morning hours just as the sun was about to rise when Ezio dropped him and Malik off by the house again but instead of finally answering his questions Malik had gone right to bed to sleep and by the time Altaїr got up he was already at _work_ again. Altaїr hadn’t slept at all. He still felt confused and exhausted. He had been alone for hours and hours in that white room without permission to even use the bathroom. At some point, this big guy – Connor – had brought him something to drink and cleaned his face after he apologized for the rough treatment and he really looked remorseful by doing that but still, Altaїr had felt no need to care at all for this apology or for the water or anything at all.

And now here he sat still with no one to answer his questions. Perhaps he should just leave. Perhaps he should just go and pack few things (which would make him a thief) and simply leave this place, but chances were good that he was been watched and Talal was still running around out there, alarmed by last night's events and he would never get his answers if he would go now.

It was around 10 AM this morning when the front door was finally opened and closed soon after, followed by the sound of shoes getting thrust into a corner of the hallway (like Kadar normally did) and then by the sound of a coat being stuffed away with a small clattering from the metal of the hanger on the metal of the coat rag (like Kadar never did). Then there were footsteps in the hallway and it was the very first time Altaїr noticed how silent they really were.

When Malik poked his head into the kitchen Altaїr didn’t even look up from his book. "I was certain you would’ve left by now." Malik stated before he entered the kitchen and sat down at the table just to ruffle trough his unruly, black hair and rubbed his eyes a little. He looked tired and stressed and not like he wanted to deal with an agitated young man in his kitchen at all.

"I believe I wouldn’t get far." Altaїr simply answered when he finally closed the book and leaned back into his chair with crossed arms. It felt awkwardly normal sitting like this in Malik's kitchen and silently judging the owner of this house.

"I bet you wouldn't." Malik sighed. "Listen, I didn’t know anything about this. I didn’t know that your father was an assassin; well at least I didn’t recall reading his name somewhere in the chronic and I didn't know who you were when I first met you. Perhaps Al Mualim and the others knew but they didn’t tell me. It is right that Al Mualim guided me into your direction after I first mentioned you and the opportunity of having someone inside Talal's warehouse, but I would’ve never forced you, otherwise I would’ve run after you when you left that soup kitchen, right? Listen, there is nothing I can say so that you would believe me and I know that pretty well. You are not naïve or dumb, Altaїr, but I hope you'll find it in you to forgive me anyway."

Still, Altaїr didn’t look at him but now he slowly raised his eyes from the cover of G _reat Expectations_ to Malik's face. He still remembered sitting with him in the living room last night and feeling his arm around his shoulders while he read to him and while he listened to his deep voice and his soothing breathing like they would know each other for ages. He liked that. In fact, it was something he thought about during the entirety of the last night. "I don’t want to hear anything about this." Altaїr then answered slowly and his eyes were serious when he locked them with the dark ones of Malik. "I want to hear about those assassins and all that stuff you wouldn’t tell me about. I am no outsider anymore, right? I was _destined at birth_ , so tell me."

"You can still run away from his burden." Mali then said and his voice suddenly sounded gentle before he reached over the table and placed his right hand on top of his crossed arms. "There is no turning back as soon as I tell you. Assassins don’t retire, Altaїr. Assassins die on duty or being sent away to prison or mental asylums. Assassins are willing to give their lives for the brotherhood and with that their descendants too. My family is part of the brotherhood since the 12th century and all of us since then were assassins."

"If I shall fight for the brotherhood like my father did, then I shall know about those things. I don’t like running away. I needed to run away nearly my whole life and I am tired of running. If this is what my father believed in, then I shall too, because I believe my father was an intelligent man who didn’t let himself get fooled by an old man with a beard." He had had time enough to think about it. He was eleven when his father died and he only knew him as this heroic man, as the man who was not afraid giving his life to protect his little son, running into a dead-end knowingly so he would get caught, so they would let his son alone and so they wouldn't start searching for the kid. He always trusted his father and perhaps this now was a moment where he should trust him too.

For a moment Malik looked a little bit impressed, but then he leaned back in his chair again and he too crossed his arms in front of his chest. Altaїr listened to him while Malik told him about the origins of the brotherhood, beginning by the Levantine brotherhood during the crusades to where they were now. He told him about the seemingly endless fight with the Templars about the ideals of the future and humanity. He told him as many details as he could possibly remember from the times his father told him when he was a kid and he told him about his years in training during school before he decided to join the army and how he was welcomed back into the brotherhood after he was let down by the government just because he lost an arm.

He told him. He spoke for hours and Altaїr just listened and tried to comprehend all of this. It sounded like a fantasy, but then again he felt like it was the truth. There was that spark inside of him that told him it was the truth. Perhaps it was his father guarding him and nudging him ever so slightly into the right direction.

"How did your father die?" Altaїr asked when Malik finally stopped exhausted. By now it was already past lunchtime.

"My parents died in an accident. Well … they had a car crash … seemingly a freak accident, you know some deer running across the road and stuff, but it is most likely that it was an assault by the Templars for my father had been spying on one of them during that time." Malik answered but he didn’t really seem enraged.

"You sound so calm about this. Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to find who's responsible and whoop his ass?" Because he would’ve, but Malik just chuckled.

"Well, I was angry. I was sixteen at the time it happened, so of course, I was angry and full of hate, but my father often told me that revenge never was the right way to handle stuff. It won't bring them back and they knew the risks of living this life as well as I and Kadar know. When you really want to know something about revenge just go and ask Ezio, he can tell you an awful lot about it. He lost half of his family because of a Templar conspiracy in Florence and has only his sister and mother left, but his mother is kind of crazy since then. He got his revenge, but you can ask him if he feels better because of it."

Altaїr only sighed. "When I was a child I wanted nothing more than finding those bastards who killed my father and I wanted to find the man who was responsible for us getting caught. No one really knew back then where we were, but there was this guy who knew and who told them and so we needed to escape again, sick as we both were."

"You know his name?"

Altaїr shrugged his shoulders just a little, hate still in his eyes for this traitor, for this cowardly little worm. "My father said he was a friend. Now I believe he meant he was an assassin when he said  _friend_. His name was Ahmad Sofian I believe. He had a son my age, at least that was what my father said, but I never met him." Of course, he remembered the name of this man, how couldn’t he? This name was engraved in his bones like the rage he felt.

"Did you try to get back on him?" Malik then asked.

"Yes, I did." Altaїr sighed and only smiled a little. "I couldn’t do much with eleven years of age, I knew that, but at least I could have gone to him and show him what he's done – That was what I thought, but when I got there he was already dead. He hung himself in the staircase of his house, out of remorse I think. He was a coward and he died like one and I hope his son knows and feels ashamed for him."

"I bet he does." Malik said before silence crept into the room to fill it and left them to their own thoughts. Altaїr was hungry, but he really didn’t feel like eating. It was a lot to comprehend what he heard until now, but he was sure he would make it. He decided to make it and he decided to follow his father's example, for that was all he could do right now and if this ensured his life, for now, he would gladly do it. He hadn’t survived for so long to now give everything up so easily.

"Do you have a clue who the whistleblower was?" He asked after a while in which they just said there in silence. It didn’t feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with a guy like Malik. It really didn’t. But Malik shook his head.

"No. Still no clue."

"But you have something on your mind, don’t you?" Malik had this distinct look in his eyes that spoke of uncertainty and he nodded. "But you won't tell me, right?"

"No… Well ... not yet. I will when I am sure, but for now I don’t know what to believe. Rauf told me something about the things he learned in Talal's office, but he wasn’t sure himself what to make of it and now all the documents are destroyed. There is just one thing that is certain. It was someone inside the brotherhood and now everyone looks skeptical at one another. I never experienced my brothers behaving like this before."

"It will pass as soon as the culprit is found some way or another."

"You need to be careful from now on. I don’t think Ezio and Connor see you as a suspect anymore and Al Mualim definitely not, but I can't speak for any of the others and you are still being watched, that is for sure. They respect my privacy inside this house, but since Ezio came here last night I am quite sure that he isn’t the only one who knows where I'm living. So just be careful."

"And now you're saying you are worried about me?" Altaїr chuckled and lifted his chin just slightly. "I survived fourteen years nearly on my own, I survived a bomb and the escape from Syria and I survived Talal's last punishment but still you worry about me? I am a tough cookie." His English was still broken and his way of talking still clumsy and his accent still extreme but at least he tried and with that Malik broke out in laughter.

It was the first time he really heard him laugh, but he liked the deep warm sound of it. "Yeah, you really are a _tough cookie_." He chuckled and suddenly leaned over the table to ruffle trough his hair. "Where did you even get that from?"

"Kadar."- Was the simple answer.

"Yeah where else you should hear something like this? Maybe you should not listen to him when he tries to teach you English, okay?" There was this damned wide grin on his face and Altaїr couldn’t help but stare at him and his damned grin.

"So…" Altaїr finally began – mostly to distract himself from that grin. "What happens next? I mean … is there some rite to get into the brotherhood or…?"

Malik raised his brows at him like he was used to by now. The guy really rarely smiled or laughed but mostly he frowned at him or his brother (not his son – never his son), but Altaїr guessed that he was pretty much the same. Mostly he simply didn’t feel like smiling at all. There was no real reason to smile if it wasn't for Tazim doing something incredibly cute or funny while he tried to teach him English. "So you really want to join the brotherhood?"

"I guess." Altaїr sighed. "It's what I am supposed to do, right? I mean, my father was one of your people and I think he would’ve wanted me to become a part of the brotherhood too. I guess it is the right thing to do, other than this … what else should I do?"

"You could do everything you want." Malik sighed and Altaїr knew that this was a choice never given to the man with the bionic arm.

"I did what I wanted to do and that brought me here and I think it was supposed to happen like this. I always wondered why it happened to be me surviving all this time pretty much on my own in Syria, then surviving the boat and Talal for so long without getting my organs ripped out. Perhaps I was destined to come here, to meet you and to find my way back into the brotherhood I was born of? I am no religious man and I never really believed in something like fate, but I guess I could give it a try and fate is a just as logical an explanation like any scientific explanation right now."

"So I don’t need to lock you into the house or chain you to a bed so you won't run away?" Malik asked again with a small grin. It really was rare seeing him _relaxed_ like this but at least Altaїr thought to knew now why he always seemed to be so stressed. Now they could talk to each other openly and perhaps that was what Malik needed – someone to talk to, someone who was not his brother and who was no outsider.

"Are you implying you don’t want me to leave _you_?" Altaїr chuckled to tease the guy in front of him although he knew he should rather not play games with him.

"Maybe." Malik grinned but then he stood up and stretched. Altaїr was quite certain he did that so his shirt would ride up a little to reveal the hint of firm muscles underneath the fabric and the line of dark hair leading the way from his nape down to the promise of pleasure. He was staring again and that needed to stop. Now was not the right time to stare. They were in a serious situation right now. Talal was still on the run and he was still a suspect for most members of the brotherhood. "But come on, I need to show you something, novice. When you are deciding to stay and join the brotherhood there are things I have to show you." With that, he shuffled to the kitchen door and Altaїr followed hastily.

"Are you going to train me?" Altaїr asked halfway through the hallway before Malik led him to the basement door and down the steps. He didn’t like basements. In Syria, he had always been afraid a bomb would destroy the house above him and conceal him in a basement if he would ever try to hide in one.

"Yes. But not only me. You will be trained by Connor and Ezio too." Altaїr made a face. "Connor will teach you how to use weapons like a crossbow and how to read tracks. He is a very clever guy, don’t underestimate him. He lived for a rather long time in the wilderness outside Boston. He knows how to read tracks and hunt someone down like no other, you can profit from his experience and knowledge and I bet you will like him the most of your teachers. He is really calm-" Altaїr snorted. His nose still hurt. "-when he is not having a bad day. He is the guy to go to when you need peace or relaxation or a good advice. Ezio will teach you how to pick locks, how to climb and how to move without noise and all that other assassin stuff. Other than this he will show you how to wield your blade-"

"My blade? We are in the 21st century; you do now that, right?" Now it was Malik making a face at him when he stopped somewhere in the basement between two shelves on the wall that contained canned food and stuff that just piled up in a house like this. There was a skateboard missing a wheel lying around, probably Kadar's and some rollerblades.

"I didn’t mean a sword, you idiot." Malik said dryly. "But we still use blades in some way or another. You don’t want to draw attention to your doing and guns always make noise. So yes, he is going to teach you how to use a blade properly, but he is a pain in the ass as a teacher, let me tell you this. He is quite a nice and cool guy if you learn to handle him. Just don’t talk about Italy with him, it's still an open wound for the guy. Then we have Bill – William – he is one of our oldest members – although he isn’t that old - and we are quite certain he will follow in Al Mualim's footsteps as soon as the old man decides to leave the stage. He will teach you a lot of theoretical stuff. There is a rule in the brotherhood: for one given lecture for your body, there are two lectures for your brain. He will teach you about culture and languages. An assassin needs to be high educated. He really is a bastard when it comes to teaching. He already makes his four-year-old son cry _a lot_. He expects much from his students – often too much."

"So he will be the most troublesome and strict, I guess?" Altaїr sighed. "He will hate me as soon as I open my mouth."

But Malik laughed at this just a little and again ruffled though Altaїr's hair before he grabbed something in one of the shelves, gave it a small pull and then there was the distinct sound of a click. Right in front of Malik, between the two shelves s small door _appeared_. Altaїr was sure it was there the whole time but he couldn’t see it and now the door clicked a little back so the gaps in the wall became more prominent. There was no handle on this side of the door, but Malik pushed against it and the door swung open. Another set of stairs led even deeper into the basement and Malik led the way after he pushed a small button next to the stairs. Light flooded the area underneath the house and the door closed behind Altaїr after he followed the man.

"No." Malik finally said wandering down the wooden stairs that lead into another room that must be nearly as big as the ground floor of the house. The walls were bright white, just like the tiles that covered the floor and the neon light in the ceiling reflected loudly from the polished ground. "Bill won't be the most trouble but I will."

"So what are you going to teach me?" Altaїr then asked quietly and somewhat intimidated by the interior of the area they stepped in, but when he finally reached the end of the staircase and the large room Malik was already in he _knew_. There were long sets of shelves and display cabinets all over the walls filled with guns. "Oh."

 


	7. Chapter 7

_"It's a boy." Umar's voice cracked through the speakers of the Laptop somewhere in a small house in Boston and his face was way too close to the camera when he sat in front of the camera on his side of the world. "It's a boy!" He repeated a wide grin plastered on his youthful face. He hated that his best friend's laptop was such an old and old-fashioned thing. He rather would see his stupid face right in front of his to see the tears gleaming in his brown eyes._

_"Congratulations." He grinned back when Umar finally sat down and looked in the same instant like he was about to jump right up again. "How is Maud?" Umar had called him a lot lately. Of course, they tried to stay in contact as much as possible with an ocean between them, but especially during the last two months of the pregnancy, he had called weekly out of worry for his bed stricken wife. Maud was a fragile woman right from the start and perhaps this was even the reason why his best friend fell in love with her in the first place. Umar liked to protect, he always did. And this exact characteristic of his friend saved his ass more than one time during their training so many years ago. He really missed working with his best friend. Umar was a guy he could trust blind and deaf - everyone could._

_"She's fine. Well, she sleeps now, but she is fine. Do you want to see my son?" Umar then boomed again. Behind him, he could only see little of the room Umar was in. Somewhere behind him, he could spot the edge of a bed - probably the one Maud laid and tried to find sleep while her annoying husband talked to his best friend via video chat. It was quite dark in the room, only a lamp somewhere to Umar's right brightened the room a little and the light of the laptop screen let his friend look pale and exhausted._

_"Yes of course." He chuckled because Umar would do it anyway no matter what he would say, no matter if he would say he should not go and wake the baby or something. Umar was impatient and restless and he nearly exploded with energy and joy and pride no matter how tired he appeared to be. He could only watch his friend jumping up from his chair after he got his okay and disappeared somewhere to the left._

_For a long moment, he could only see the feet of the bed and the little uprising that supposedly were Maud's feet but then Umar came back to the laptop. In his arms, he held a small bundle tightly wrapped in thick light blue blankets. He could spot a small blue hat somewhere buried in the blanket before Umar sat again in front of the camera and pushed down the fabric a little bit so his best friend could finally see the little pink face of the newborn._

_"Wow … now I really want to be with you." He sighed while he just watched the baby in his best friends arm sleeping peacefully but with a slight frown on his face. He really would love to be with his Umar and to share this moment face to face, to enjoy his best friend's luck and happiness and so he could properly greet this new little human._

_"He will get a christening, Maud wishes so and you dear friend will be his guardian so you will meet this little man in person." Umar grinned. It was not a question for Umar that his best friend would attend the christening and really become the guardian of this precious child - and it was out of the question for him either._

_"But then I need to know his name." He replied laughing and watched Umar's face going blank for just a moment in confusion before he seemingly remembered that he never told his friend about the name of his first son. Suddenly his grin grew even wider and prouder and he could see his sparkling eyes even through the bad camera. He lifted the child just a little bit so he could see his tiny wrinkled face a little bit better, but before he answered him, he kissed the baby on his little blue hat. The baby wiggled but remained still._

_"May I introduce my son to you? This is Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad. Altaїr this is Faheem Al-Sayf."_

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"Are you okay with picking up Tazim tomorrow?" Malik asked when he entered the living room on this peculiar Thursday evening. Altaїr was lying face down on the carpet in front of the TV, but he did not even glance at the stupid thing, instead he had grabbed some of Malik's old photo-books from one of the shelves without even asking for permission. He looked up when the man entered the room and stopped two steps in after he noticed what Altaїr grabbed from the shelf. He did not protest but would not move either.

"Yes, it's okay." Altaїr replied then. No, it was not. He felt anxious thinking about leaving the house. It was not yet a week since the failed raid on the warehouse and Talal was still on the run and possibly very aware that Altaїr could be working with the assassins in some way or another. He knew that Talal not only had Abbas and Swami as his handymen and he was not stupid enough to believe this. Talal's men were everywhere it seemed and he was in danger every time he would step outside this door to roam the city or even if he moved to close the windows and could be seen from outside. Altaїr was torn between his anxiety and the yearning for freedom. He wanted to enjoy that he was finally free from his shackles, like an eagle flying high above the city and the tallest buildings but he was scared for his life on the other side too. "Kadar and I will go straight to the kindergarten and back, no strolling around, no wandering off." - Because Malik was not worried about _him_ , but about his son and brother. Altaїr was not the only person in danger, but Kadar and Tazim would be too when they would be seen with him.

It was just then, that Malik finally moved closer and sat down beside him on the carpet. They were pretty much alone in the house since Kadar was staying at a friend's house tonight and Tazim was already sleeping upstairs in his room. "I am sure you can look out for yourself." The older man said with a serious face although they both knew that there were still a lot to learn for Altaїr. He was no member of the brotherhood yet, but he would become one as soon as this whole ordeal with Talal would be put to an end and Malik already begun teaching him stuff. For now, it was just the basics of hand-to-hand combat down in the basement and sometimes even with the help of Kadar. The boy was much stronger than he really looked like and Altaїr would never forget how surprised and utterly shocked he was when Kadar's fist hit him the first time. It had not been all that easy explaining to Tazim why Altaїr had a bloody nose afterward but to their luck, the boy was still naïve enough to believe their stupid lie about him colliding with a closed door.

He liked the training; he liked using his body in such ways again and remembered his days when he would run over Masyaf's rooftops vividly every time he did train with the brothers. He felt a bit like himself again with every day of training and he really liked that, though he had a long way to go still. Just the fact that his body seemed still capable of those things was enough to let his hopes rise from their slumber again. He liked the training, even more, when it was just Malik and him but of course, he gave his best to not show it to the ex-soldier.

Malik would never take off his shirt during their sessions unlike Kadar and Altaїr could only guess it was because of his arm, but he himself, on the other hand, would not take off his shirt either no matter how much he sweated during the training. It was because of the not yet healed wounds on his back and the scars covering his whole body.

For a moment, Malik simply looked down on the photo-book Altaїr just opened, but then Altaїr was startled by a movement to his left when Malik's hand grabbed his face. He did not slap him or really grab him, but his fingers brushed over the scar on his forehead right under his hairline. "How did you get that scar?"

It was weird how normal the touch felt already but on the other hand, it was quite weird how normal it felt, in general, to be close to Malik. He liked his presence very much and it still felt like he was around his best friend that he missed for years and years without even noticing that he missed him like this. It was like they knew each other for the entirety of their lives but were separated early and now back together and behaved like nothing at all happened. They started where they stopped although they never knew each other. Altaїr was curious if Malik felt the same way but on the other hand, he was quite certain that he did only because of the way Malik was behaving around him. He had seen him interacting with his brother and with members of the brotherhood, which he considered friends and he acted differently around them than he acted around him.

"I don’t know exactly how I got it." Altaїr grinned as he looked up to him. He already missed Malik's touch as soon as the man pulled his fingers back from the scar as if he noticed just then that it was not decent to touch somebody without asking for permission. Malik was not a touchy guy; he noticed that during the past three weeks that he was in this house now. He was only a bit touchy when it came to his son. He would cuddle Tazim or brush through his dark hair, but not with adults. But still, Altaїr noticed that Malik would often search for his direct body contact in some way or another and he often looked like he wanted to touch him, but forced himself not to. Sometimes he seemed like a man who tried to touch something just to proof to himself that this something really was there. "My head was injured quite badly one day when I made my way through Aleppo, you know? There was a terrorist, one of those fucked up suicide-bombers and I nearly ran into him. To be honest, I don’t remember much of this day, but the people in the hospital said there was a soldier who saved me and that I was hit on the head quite badly by the rubble."

For a moment, Malik only stared at him and looked a lot like his brain shut down – or like a robot without power. He really didn’t know what to make of his expression, but then Malik chuckled and ran his right hand through his face bevor he moved his fingers through his black hair. Only for a few seconds, he looked lost in thought, before he looked at Altaїr again. "So it _was_ you." He then said and left Altaїr in utter confusion. "I already suspected it to be you. I guess it had to be you."

"I don’t understand." Altaїr then sighed and really felt like the biggest idiot wandering around the planet for he missed the point of this joke.

"I was the soldier that day." Malik then finally answered and suddenly his hand was back again on Altaїr's scar and he dragged his thumb over the torn and long healed skin. The scar was longer than it seemed and vanished somewhere under his hair, for his head had been split open quite literally, but even Altaїr had no clue how long the scar really was. He could only stare at Malik for a long moment and try to process this new information. He remembered only faintly the events of that day. He did not even recall how he got into the city or what he tried to accomplish there, but he could remember the smell of burned skin, the sound of the explosion ripping on his eardrums, the pain and the body bumping on his. Suddenly the brown eyes that haunted his dreams for so long were familiar and suddenly he knew that face they belonged to. Was that the reason why Malik seemed so familiar? Was it this day in Aleppo that linked the two of them together? "I was there for a sniper job, a controlled explosion of a car. Just me and Rauf. It was the day prior to my journey back home." Malik then began to tell his story and Altaїr could only listen and stare. "I was stupid and it was my fault that I lost my arm this day, but when I saw you on the street I thought _you_ were the terrorist. I didn’t see him coming and when I saw him it was already too late."

"So all you could think of was becoming a human shield for a stupid kid on the street?" Altaїr murmured quietly. This story seemed so foreign like it was not their shared experience of a bomb going off right beside them like they did not escape death together like it was just a movie they saw. It felt like this anyway.

"Yes, I guess so." Malik chuckled. "I don’t really know what I was thinking in that moment, I probably didn’t think at all. You know I was angry after I woke up in the hospital just to be informed that my arm was gone forever and that I was to no use for the army because of my new disability. I was crushed and then my wife died and I was alone with Tazim and Kadar. You have no clue how desperate I was back then. I did not want to live anymore, I really thought about killing myself back then for even the simplest things in life suddenly felt unbearable and like I could achieve nothing at all anymore. But I needed to be strong for the boys so I kept going, but I was not the same man I was before. And then there was Al Mualim again who contacted me and offered me this new arm in exchange for my loyalty. Still, I was angry. I hated the whole world and I hated you especially. I hated the stupid kid that I protected and lost my arm for. I heard that the boy I saved was alive but that he fled from the hospital and I was furious. All I wanted was to know if my sacrifice was worth it and I felt like I endangered myself and got myself into that situation without reason. I really hated you back then. If I had the chance I would’ve hunted you down and rip you apart."

Altaїr was silent once again for he had no clue what to say and what to do. Malik lost his arm because of him and he felt like crap for not knowing all this time. He felt like crap for fleeing from the hospital without even asking what happened to the man that saved him.

"As a soldier, I saw myself as a protector of the people and the sole point that I didn’t know what happened to you afterward made me sick. I had no clue if I managed to protect you or if you just stumbled to your death afterward. But now you are here and you are alive. I am glad you are alive. You have no idea how this day haunted my dreams for years."

Malik Al-Sayf was a man that rarely smiled, but now he did and Altaїr could not really understand why he smiled. He would be furious if their places were swapped. He forced himself to sit up straight again just so he could have a better look at Malik's face but grabbed his hand, when Malik tried to pull it back again. It really was weird and it was even weirder and felt even more surreal to know that he was sitting here on this carpet together with the man that saved his life back then on that day in Aleppo.

"I want to see it." Altaїr then finally said after a long pause while he simply watched Malik and laid his hand softly on his left arm. He could feel the bump somewhere at the middle of his upper arm where the prosthesis began. Malik looked at him puzzled, then uncertain, but then he nodded and stood up.

"Not here." Was all he said before he pulled at Altaїr's hand so he would follow him out of the living room and then upstairs. Altaїr knew where Malik would lead him to but still, he felt nervous when the bedroom door closed behind him. Altaїr did not know much about Malik, but he was sure by now that he did not just imagine the tension between them at times. Sometimes Kadar would make a comment about their behavior towards one another when they were downstairs in the training room – especially when Malik stood right behind him to guide his hands during aiming practice with the training gun - but never Malik tried to really touch him in any way that was not like a friend would touch a friend and that drove him insane very slowly. He wanted to be touched by this man, but he would not dare to make the first move and perhaps Malik was exactly the same.

That he found himself now in Malik's bedroom did not make it any easier for him not to think about this guy in such a manner. Malik then chuckled when he saw him standing by the door so awkwardly, but then he finally pulled his shirt over his head. He only wore a tight black muscle shirt underneath it but Altaїr found himself engaged in staring once again at the play of his muscles when he moved, now that he could see them clearly through the thin fabric spreading to tightly over his wide chest. He felt like a hungry beast, but his attention belonged only to Malik's left arm. Malik's arm was gone a few inches above the point where his elbow would be and the prosthesis closed around his upper arm just enough to be held in place and was covered in _skin_ or what appeared to be skin, probably something like latex that even matched his skin tone. The assassins spared no costs when it came to Malik's arm and for Altaїr it was still an enigma and miracle that Malik could use his hand nearly as good as his right one. It was almost humanlike. Altaїr found himself bridging the gap between them and his fingers touching the prosthesis carefully like it could break under his fingertips, but Malik only chuckled at this.

Then – after a small moment – Altaїr's fingers moved a little bit higher and brushed once again over the little bump he felt before under Malik's shirt where the prosthesis met the skin and then moved softly over the skin and the large black tattoo that covered his upper arm right above the prosthesis. It was an Owl spreading its wings like he was about to fly off right on his shoulder so it's wings spread out over his shoulder and chest and shoulder blades and vanished under his muscle shirt. Under the head of the owl, just underneath its beak, there was the assassin's symbol, surrounded by the feathers of the bird, but the _A_ of the logo was filled with a large red rose and four white lilies. The logo ended right above the prosthesis.

"It's beautiful." Altaїr mumbled quietly while his fingers brushed over the feathers of the owl. "But why an owl? Ezio called the assassins way the _way of the eagle_." He liked tattoos. He never got one himself of course, but he found those drawings on skin fascinating since he could remember and he loved hearing the stories behind them. For a moment Malik did not seem like he would answer him, but then he moved back to his bed and sat down on the edge. Altaїr followed like a puppy but he sat down beside him and Malik did not seem annoyed when he again brushed his fingers over his skin. He could see the little goose bumps on his neck whenever he did it.

"Well … I liked owls a lot my whole life. My father would often take me to a bird park where I could see the various raptors they kept there, but I never really liked the hawks and eagles I saw there. I always went straight to the owls. I don’t know why, but it became my nickname during my time in the army and even in the brotherhood. Connor says it is only natural that I like those birds so much for the owl is my totem." He said with a small laugh, but Altaїr was not satisfied yet so he drove his fingers of the rose before he looked at Malik's face again. He could see how he followed Altaїr's fingers with his eyes, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What about the rose?" He really liked seeing him smile like this. Malik was way too seriously most of the time, but Altaїr knew he was not any better. Normally a smile like this was only reserved for his son, but now he gifted it to Altaїr – or at least that was what Altaїr liked to think.

"This rose is for Tazim for he is the most important person in my life and he really is the love of my life. I can live without my left arm and I could even live without my legs, but I could never live without my son. He is what kept me alive. The lilies are for his mother, for my brother and my parents." Malik then explained before Altaїr could even ask him. Altaїr could understand that he would engrave his late wife into his arm like this and still there was this spark of jealousy even for one second, just like every time he would look down on the wedding band Malik still wore.

"You loved her very much." Altaїr stated the obvious when he finally let go of Malik's arm, but the older male only sighed.

"I did love her." He confirmed but then his face was serious again. "I did love her a lot, but I don’t think we would be together still if she wouldn’t have died after Tazim's birth. Our love was strong as long as we kept the distance. Today I think I was blinded by love when I married her and I think she felt the same way. It was right and beautiful as long as it lasted, but I don’t think it would’ve lasted forever. I can see that now, but I couldn’t see it when I married her with the prospect of leaving for Syria and be confronted with death and suffering. I think it was the danger of losing one another that had really drawn us together and the joy to see the other one again after months of silence and doubt. We were entirely different and so were our expectations in life. We wouldn’t have coped well together as parents and I don’t know if she would have coped with my disadvantage or even with the fact that I would become an assassin. Don’t get me wrong, I really missed her and I do so still, but I think it would’ve been inevitable anyway. Still, she is a big and important part of my life and she gave me my son and for that, I will hold her memory close forever."

Perhaps it was good that Altaїr's mind went blank after hearing those words from Malik's mouth. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn’t think when he saw how Malik opened his mouth to speak again because otherwise, he wouldn’t have found the bravery to just close Malik's mouth with his own to silence him. He didn’t want to hear any more about his wife. He simply couldn’t help it and the alarm signals were already going off inside his stupid head, as soon as he felt Malik's still slightly open lips under his own, but now it was already too late and for one long moment Altaїr was certain Malik would push him back. He hadn’t expected him to sneak his hand in Altaїr's neck to pull him closer instead.

The kiss that evolved from that was messy and rough and just as Altaїr expected it to be when he first fantasized about kissing Malik. His grip was firm and hard in Altaїr's neck, his tongue was hot, and demanding when he parted Altaїr's lips and entered his mouth without even seeking permission. Altaїr had no clue when he kissed for the very last time. He thought about the guy back in Jerusalem who promised him safety and took his virginity. Altaїr hadn’t loved the man and he couldn’t even remember his name by now but he knew that he was already dead. It wasn’t the last time he kissed, but it was the time that stuck the most with him until now.

Altaїr's own fingers dug deeply inside Malik's muscle shirt and clutched on the fabric in an attempt to hold his balance and hold him close, but Malik finally broke the kiss again. He felt his heavy breathing against his moist lips when he tried to snatch Malik's lips once again, but Malik pulled back just a little – just enough so he couldn’t reach his lips. "We shouldn’t do this." Malik breathed with a husky voice, but Altaїr could see in his eyes that he _wanted_ it just as much as Altaїr.

Altaїr wanted to say that they _should_ do it, but he didn’t because he knew Malik was right. They shouldn’t do something like this. Not now and not under those circumstances. Malik had other things to worry about, _he_ had other things to worry about but still, he couldn’t force himself to free himself from Malik's grip and Malik won't let him go either. "No … we shouldn’t." He murmured slowly but the same instant the words escaped him Malik's lips sealed his once more before the man slowly pushed him down on the mattress behind them to lean over him like a predator lurking for his prey.

The next day began with a face hovering over him and glasses glistening in the sunlight. It wasn’t Malik who looked at him with a huge grin on his face. He wasn’t even sure if Malik was able to make such a face at all but in consideration that Kadar was his younger brother, it was very much likely that even Malik was able to grin like this. It was a strange thing to imagine. It took a moment for Altaїr to remember what happened during the last night and that he was indeed still in Malik's bed entangled in his sheets and that this was very much likely the reason why Kadar grinned at him like this. With a small frown, he tried to shield himself from the bright light of the sun shining through the bedroom window before he sat up a little. Kadar wouldn't stop grinning but he wouldn’t talk either. It was quite eerie.

"What?" Altaїr simply asked and tried to look as oblivious as possible in consideration of the fact that Kadar found him very much naked in his big brother's bed just covered by Malik's trusty blanket.

"So you banged my brother." Kadar just grinned and sat down on the bed like it was the most normal thing to do.

"Judging by how much my ass hurt _he_ banged me." Altaїr moaned and ruffled through his hair. If Kadar decided to be so obnoxious towards him and asked him in such a blunt matter if he _banged_ his brother, Altaїr would answer just as bluntly. He didn’t feel ashamed, no, not at all. He could very much remember the last night now that he was wide-awake again. He had no clue how it happened though or if Malik planned this when he lured Altaїr into his bedroom just to show him his prosthesis. Possible. If Kadar wouldn’t be with him right now, he would use the memories of last night quite differently.

Kadar just laughed at this and patted his shoulder. "Wow, that was about time. If you hadn’t done it already I would’ve locked you in the basement until you did." He was speechless and this was something that happened only rarely. Kadar was behaving as if Malik and he would creep around each other for months now, though Altaїr was not even four weeks here in this house.

"I don't know what you are talking about." Altaїr finally managed and cleared his throat. He had absolutely no interest in discussing his sex life with someone like Kadar.

"Yes, you do." Kadar sighed and shook his head. "I really hadn’t thought it would be so hopeless with you guys! I mean come on! Since you are here, you guys stare at each other like you want to jump each other! I have never seen my brother staring at somebody's ass like he did when you were around! Even with Adha, he behaved differently! My brother is not the type of guy who would take in a stray cat like you normally. Normally he would’ve called an ambulance when he found you in front of the door or he would’ve called Ezio to pick you up and bring you to the headquarter, instead he took you in and cared for you. He would never take a homeless guy into a Starbucks to give him something to drink and to eat, to begin with. He _likes_ you. And he liked you even before he knew that you are an assassin."

"I am no assassin."

"Not yet, but you are to become one. You are born an assassin, no matter if you like it or not. You are one of us. So yeah. I'm glad you finally fucked, but keep it quiet from now on, okay? I don’t want to hear my brother having sex and now get your ass out of the bed. It is already lunchtime and we need to pick up Tazim soon." With that, the seventeen-year-old boy stood up from the bed and ripped the blanket from him.

Kadar was a really easy and outgoing guy. He was someone who could say things like this openly and go on with his life as if nothing had happened at all. He could be happy for his brother having a lot of gay sex like he only got a promotion or a new job - Like it was nothing special. He was a strange kid. Altaїr wasn’t used to being accepted like he was. He was used to hiding his sexuality at all costs and to try and accommodate to the people around him. Of course, it came to him by surprise that Kadar wouldn’t make a huge deal about this but accepted him for who he was and even that he had sex with Kadar's own brother.

Malik told him that unlike Malik himself Kadar never set foot into their shared home country. Kadar was never touched by Syrian laws or religious opinions. He was an American boy through and through, but Altaїr wouldn’t call him oblivious or ignorant and perhaps it was because he was raised in this country that he was so open-minded or it was because he knew how gay people were treated in countries like Syria and tried to make Altaїr as much comfortable as possible because of this. Perhaps it was just his nature perhaps he really didn't give a fuck.

"Hey! Would you get your ass out there already?" Kadar grinned again moving towards the door. The teenager stopped when he noticed Altaїr's shorts lying on the ground and grabbed them without hesitating just to throw them into his face. "Perhaps you should take a shower too." He then laughed and fled the room when he heard Altaїr growl from the bed. Kadar really was an enigma for Altaїr, but the truth was all people in this house were.

When he finally threw back the covers fully and put on the shorts, he felt stiff and the distinct pain shooting through his back he knew so well by know. Malik was a gentle lover despite his broad form and his strength, but he hurt anyway and he felt ridiculous. During his shower, he tried to remember as much as possible from last night's events, but all was a blur of heat and noises and touches. The bite marks covering his neck and his thighs told him at least a bit about what really happened and he could still remember Malik going down on him and biting the delicate skin of his inner thigh to tease him while he could only moan in pleasure. Without even noticing he turned, the water cold – to wake up thoroughly - was what he told himself.

He was no teenager anymore, but he felt confused nonetheless. Back in Syria, it had been quite easy. He would fuck with someone he met in those secretive bars and then left as if nothing happened. He never fell in love with really anyone and he sure wasn’t in love with Malik now, right? Well he liked him. He liked him much. And he wanted to repeat this over and over again. It was probably the first time in his life that he really feared being rejected _after_ having sex with someone. Malik didn’t seem to be the type of guy who slept with anyone and then kick them out. He was a man who would do everything with reason. But Altaїr had no clue how he really felt about him. The way he kissed him and touched him promised more than a quick fuck or being friends with benefits from now on.

For all, he knew Malik probably already regretted what he did last night. He had other things to focus on right now and right now clearly wasn’t the time to fool around with someone like Altaїr who was still seen as a suspect by the brotherhood. He needed to worry about Talal and how they would get him finally and he needed to focus on finding the real culprit who informed the criminal about their plans. Altaїr still had no real clue how the brotherhood was positioned when it came to love affairs between two assassins, but of course, that was nothing to ask right away when being confronted with the mentor of the brotherhood and he wouldn’t dare as soon as he would become a part of the brotherhood.

As colleagues, they would need to be professional with one another for their lives could depend on it. The life of an assassin sure wasn’t rainbows and kittens. "You seem worried, Altaїr." Kadar smirked when Altaїr stepped out of the bathroom only covered with the towel he wrapped around his hips. He didn’t mind that Kadar stared at his body – because he did. He knew it was his scars and his wounds he stared at and not his hipbones or his torso in general. "Are you worried because of my brother?"

Altaїr bit his tongue. He wanted to say that he wasn't worried at all. He wanted to taunt Kadar for thinking something like that, but he didn’t for the boy was right and they both knew it. So he simply kept his silence, but Kadar patted his shoulder.

"As I said earlier, Malik likes you. He wouldn’t have slept with you if he wouldn’t like you."

"Yes well, even if he does, he is still an assassin and I am bound to become one in the near future as well. The life of an assassin is dangerous and I really don’t want to be worried all the time if I could lose him every time he would go on a mission." Even now, he felt anxious when he just thought about the prospect of losing this man that he hardly knew, but Kadar's grin became much more smugly at this.

"Well, you could lose one another every time you leave the house. He could get run over by a car or fall down the stairs to the subway. There are so many things that could happen in everyday life, but this wouldn’t stop you guys if you weren't assassins, right?"

He knew Kadar was right. Of course, he was (and Kadar's smirking blue eyes told him that Kadar too knew that he was right). Altaїr wasn’t as stupid as to believe that they would be invincible even if they weren't assassins - If Malik wasn't an assassin. He was a soldier. He was an assassin. He lost his arm to protect a child from a bomb - To protect _him_ from a bomb. He felt guilty even if he knew he didn’t need to feel guilty, but still, Malik lost his arm for protecting him. "Smartass…" Altaїr only murmured but Kadar laughed. He looked ready to say something in return, probably to tease him for the very visible bite marks all over his body, but then the doorbell rang and he strode towards the stairs.

"Get dressed; we really need to get going in a few minutes. The kindergarten teachers will be merciless when we are late!" Kadar only called from the stairs before he wandered down. With a small sigh and still lost in thoughts Altaїr retreated back to his room where he grabbed a fresh pair of boxers, his favorite pair of jeans, which Malik bought him, and a T-Shirt, which he stole from Malik a few days ago. He hadn’t yet put the shirt on when there was a loud noise coming from downstairs startled him so much that he just dropped the piece of clothing. Something (or someone?) was thrown against a wall with a loud bang– at least it sounded like this and then there was the sound of glass being smashed and heavy steps hurrying up the stairs, then Kadar's voice yelling through the house on top of the teen's lungs. "ALTAЇR RUN!"

Kadar's loud scream which echoed afterward through the entire house left Altaїr frozen in place. He heard the stomping feed and the alarm bells in his head shrilled louder than ever, but he didn’t run for he knew he would never be fast enough, instead he jumped to his bed and let himself fall flat on the ground so he could hastily scramble underneath the piece of furniture. The space between the bed and the ground was just big enough for him to fit and he crawled as close towards the wall on the side of the bed as possible so they wouldn’t see him right away or at least have a hard time getting him out. He felt like a child all over again, hiding from the bad men that tried to hunt him and his father down like animals.

His heart was racing inside his chest so loud in fact that he was certain it was audible even downstairs. It was not only the fright for his own life but all the more, the worries he felt for Kadar. He heard how the intruder(s) smashed against furniture and ripped doors open in search for him. Talal's men - He was sure of that. It must be Talal's men hunting him again and the fear of being found let his whole body shake uncontrollably. He felt pathetic. He was to be an assassin, but he hid under a bed like a child while the brother of the man who took him in was hurt (or killed?) downstairs! It was his duty to help Kadar and to fight those people, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Talal would kill him when he would get him.

No, he wouldn’t just kill him, he would torture him, he would rip him apart, and he would gut him alive and rip his limbs off one by one and feed them to him! He would let Abbas have his way with him when he couldn’t defend himself anymore! No, he wouldn’t kill him right away. Death would be too much of mercy for a traitor like him.

The door to his room was ripped open and he pressed his hand to his mouth and tried to curl up tighter to hide in the shadows. He didn’t even mind the spiders crawling over his skin curious for the intruder or the dust in his freshly washed hair. He only tried to suppress his breathing as much as possible. He even held his breath when he heard that the intruder was already close to the bed. He could see his feet, dressed in shiny leather shoes and felt the panic rising in his body and the shame nagging in the back of his head for behaving like a coward.

Perhaps he should’ve at least tried to climb out the window to flee his way, but he wouldn’t have gotten far and he knew that. He was not nearly strong enough again to even think about climbing – no matter if up or down.

He hadn’t thought he could trick those people in hiding under a bed. Kadar yelled for him to run and they knew he was inside the house. They would know that he hid somewhere in a pity attempt to escape them. Still, he flinched in shock when the man inside his room got to his knees and looked under the bed just to lock eyes with him. He didn’t know the face of the intruder, but he knew he belonged to Talal. The man only snickered, his skin tanned from the sun, but his eyes lifeless and gray like the eyes of a dead fish, his lips like worms curling upwards by the sight of the young man hiding like a child, terrified to be found.

"Look what we got here, a little rat." The man grinned and his right arm shot towards Altaїr, but when his large hand reached for him Altaїr bit down as hard as he could without even thinking and heard the man howl from the pain before he tried again to grab him enraged as he was. He managed to grab Altaїr's left ankle even though he did his best to struggle stuck between bed and ground. The man had no mercy with him when he hauled him out of his hiding place -Altaїr's short nails scratching at the ground - but as soon as he had enough space he started to kick and toss. He managed to kick him in his left knee and the man jolted back in surprise and pain with again a loud howl and a curse. It was this moment when Altaїr got to his feet and stormed out of the room just to be greeted by pain once again.

When he slumped to the ground, he could see black blotches on the field of his vision, slowly filling the world around him and he heard a familiar voice grunting something at someone, but he couldn’t understand what was said. Then there was another blow to his head and he finally lost consciousness, very well aware that he ran straight into the arms of the people that were searching for him.

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"Oi, lad, what's wrong? We're not finished yet!" Malik didn’t stop while pulling on his coat just because of Edward's voice sounding towards him from the other end of the hallway a few feet away after Malik only grabbed his coat and left the room hastily.

"Something is wrong." Malik just said and met the confused face of Connor, who was just walking by to meet his grandfather for further instructions. "I told Kadar and Altaїr to pick up Tazim today from kindergarten, but the kindergarten teacher just called me and said they didn’t come." Kadar would never forget his nephew and Altaїr was so eager to go outside, that he would probably rather wait a little while and enjoy the fresh air than being late, no matter how much afraid he was in the same instant!

Connor finally stopped by his side, but Malik could see how the boy exchanged a small look with his blonde grandfather. The guy looked ridiculously young for being a grandpa already. Well, the Kenways were early breeders it seemed – not that this would be of any concern to him _now_. "You think something happened to them?" Connor asked in this deep voice of his, his face stoic as always, but his eyes sincerely concerned.

"Kadar would never forget picking him up and Altaїr couldn’t wait for leaving the house for this task today. He felt imprisoned since it all began. Something happened."

"They could just be late." Edward replied while he finally stepped closer with crossed arms, but his forehead covered in thick worry lines. Edward was a ruthless guy, but he also was a family man so he always understood when Malik needed to go early or take breaks from the work. He had been devastated when his own son turned his back to him and to the assassins in general (well that was what Al Mualim said).

"Over an hour? No … I don’t think so." Malik groaned. "I need to go. I need to pick up Tazim and have a look myself. Say Al Mualim I'm sorry I can't be at the meeting." He left the two Kenways, but he didn’t get far until he felt Connor's large hand wrapping around his wrist and stopped just a few feet from his original spot.

"I'll join you. _If_ something happened, it could as well be a trap. You should message William to pick up Tazim today. He and Desmond can play together at his place. You shouldn’t bring him into an uncertain situation like this and at least he will be safe at Bill's."

Connor's mind was always clear it seemed and he always planned three steps ahead, just like his late father did. This guy really had been a pain in the brotherhood's ass and he felt somewhat sorry for Connor and Edward to be constantly reminded of Haytham just by looking at each other for Edward always would be confronted with the face of his son's killer and for Connor would always see his father's features in his grandfather's face.

"Yes…" Malik mumbled and rubbed over his face. "You're right. Come on then, I'll call William on the way." Now wasn’t the time to lose his head just because he felt something wasn’t right. And he _did_ feel something wasn't right. There was this distinct, nagging feeling in his stomach, the worry for his younger sibling and even for Altaїr lurking in the back of his head.

With Connor following on his heels, Malik hurried to his car in the downstairs parking lot (glad that he decided he would take the car today), drove off without any second thought, while he called William via speakerphone, and ordered him to pick up Tazim. He should be glad that William's young son Desmond was exactly Tazim's age and even visited the same Kindergarten. It had come to them as a small surprise when Malik met his brother in arms there one day to learn that William Miles indeed had a son.

William was a man who kept his life outside the brotherhood secret at all costs and so was Malik. They both hadn’t liked it, that the other man would know this piece of their personal life, but after all it would be naïve to assume the brotherhood wouldn’t know about this already and after this discovery, it had been much less of a surprise when Ezio first asked him how his _little mouseling_ was. The members of the brotherhood protected one another, so perhaps it was for the better that his brothers knew about his family. They would care for them if Malik would die too young. Still, it sometimes left a bitter taste, for when his allies knew about his family; perhaps his enemies did so too.

"You know" Connor began talking while they waited for one annoying traffic light to switch again. "If something has happened to you brother, the others will suspect Altaїr even more. Most of them still deem him to be the traitor no matter if he is the son of Umar and therefore one of us."

"I know, Connor." Malik rumbled his eyes fixed on the traffic light ahead. "And _if_ he, in fact, is a traitor I will definitely kill him, but he isn’t."

"You sure of this." It wasn’t a question, but Malik nodded anyway.

"I'm sure." He was sure for the way Altaїr clung to him during the past night and for the way his kisses tasted and how earnest his body reacted to Malik. He hadn’t intended to go that far with the younger male. The kiss had been already too much, a step too far over the line and Malik had intended to stop it right then and there, but he couldn’t. Then he had thought it would be better to give in to his bodily needs and sleep with this man, so the tension between them would finally be over. It must be sexual tension, right? This was what bound them to one another during the past weeks. He had wanted to fuck him and Altaїr was so familiar to him because he already had known him. There was no deeper magical bond between them. He had thought he could fuck him and be over with it, but yet he sat in his car, his fingers cramped around his steering wheel with knuckles turned white not only because of his worries for his little brother. What if they had been ambushed? What if Altaїr was already dead?

He had left him in his bed this morning with a mix of shame and guilt and confusion and didn’t even wake him up when he left the house. He hadn’t wanted to confront himself with those amber eyes once again for he had no clue how Altaїr felt about him. They had not only had sex with another, they had also lain together, slept together – like lovers would do. This was something very, very different than just having casual sex with a _friend_ , although he tried to not think about it too much. It was not the right time to think about stuff like this, he had other things to concentrate on. Still, Altaїr was a lingering presence in the back of his head.

When he finally understood that, it had been Altaїr back then in Aleppo whom he tried to save, he hadn't really known what to feel or think. A part of him was ready to beat the shit out of the guy just for standing on this once crowded street and looking suspicious in his black clothes, but the bigger part of his brain had already known that this wasn’t the right way to handle things. It hadn't been Altaїr's fault. Had he been angry that he lost his left arm to protect some civilian who then vanished into thin air without even asking for him? Of course. But it wasn’t Altaїr's fault. He had run at the boy and he had known that this was exactly the wrong thing to do. But then again, no. He was a soldier, hence it was his duty to protect and he had protected Altaїr. He had saved his life. His mother would say it was destiny that they would meet again like this.

Yes, his mother believed in such things and perhaps she was right.

He felt Connor's watchful eyes on him and he knew the man could look straight through his façade and his seemingly emotionless mask, but even if Connor saw the worry in Malik's eyes and even if he knew that it wasn’t only his brother he worried for, he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t like Ezio or even Edward - he would let him in peace so he could figure things out for himself. Connor was one of their youngest members, not even twenty-five by now, but in some ways, he was much more mature than even his grandfather was.

"It looks normal." The half-native man finally said when they arrived at Malik's house and parked the car in the driveway like usual. He was right. The house looked exactly how he left it this morning. There was nothing suspicious and it was exactly this, what drew suspicion.

"Yes." Malik replied when he unfastened his seatbelt and swiftly checked the hidden blade on his right arm. There had been times in his life when he even slept with this thing. "But it doesn’t feel normal."

Connor grunted quietly at his side in agreement, before they both left the car and quietly crept up to the house. Malik only nodded for Connor to use the backdoor and the big guy swiftly moved around the house in complete silence. Connor was despite his bulky stature extremely talented when it came to moving soundlessly. Even more experienced assassins sometimes weren't as good as this guy.

Malik took the front door, although he thought just for a moment about using one of the upstairs windows. He knew his brother mostly left his window open a little, no matter how often Malik would say he needed to close it and that he needed to be more careful. But for now, Malik preferred the front door because he didn’t believe that there would be someone behind said door who waited for him. No, _if_ someone were in the house they would be most likely upstairs in his study or downstairs in the basement in search of the secret room. By the door, he noticed that nobody tried to break the lock. The door was intact just like he left it this morning. No scratches or other telltale signs of previous lock picking. He twisted the doorknob and it clicked. The door was still unlocked as if Kadar and Altaїr would be still home. Before he fully opened the door there, was this little voice again nagging him and asking him if Altaїr really was innocent. What if he only waited for Malik to trust him like this to do something to his brother or threaten the brotherhood?

Shaking off this stupid thought, he pushed the door open only to be confronted with chaos. The house itself was eerily silent when he stepped in, but the furniture told stories of a fight. He saw blood near the stairs and a pair of broken glasses. Kadar's reading glasses and a bloodstained tooth lying on the floor. Malik could feel how something in his guts clenched. The lamp next to the stairs was thrown to the ground, the lightbulb broken. He only spared a small glance at the living room and kitchen only to be confronted with even more chaos and havoc. Tables were turned, chairs were broken, glass shattered and plants were thrown to the ground, dirt, and shards everywhere. But he didn’t care much for the material worth of his belongings.

When he spotted Connor near the door to the basement, he nodded to give him permission to go downstairs and saw how he already unsheathed his hidden blade, while Malik slowly and quietly moved upstairs. There were no important documents in his study, but the documents lying around seemed to be important for untrained eyes, a little trap he set up every now and then, but Malik didn’t care for any important documents either right now. His heart was beating loudly in his chest and the blood was rushing through his ears, while he climbed the stairs soundlessly. But no matter how silent it was, he still had a hard time listening to the sounds of the house, the groaning of the balks and the wood, the whispering of the cold breeze blowing through the still open door downstairs.

There was not a single sound. No moaning, no whimpering, no crying or sobbing. Nothing. This was absolutely no good sign. The upstairs hallway greeted him with even more blood on the floorboard, which occasionally squeaked if someone wouldn’t know which floorboards to avoid. There was a small, dark puddle right in front of the door on the left side of the hallway that led to the guest room - to Altaїr's room. He didn’t need to crouch down to know it was dried blood. A lot of dried blood - Too much to be just the result of a small cut. No, this was the blood that oozed from a rather serious wound. Suddenly his throat felt dry. He had no clue if it really was Altaїr's blood or maybe Kadar's or to whom the tooth downstairs belonged.

Slowly he peeked inside Altaїr's room to find it empty. There were socks lying on the ground like someone was interrupted while dressing, a plain white shirt (the shirt Altaїr stolen from him a few days ago) lying in the middle of the room and a towel hanging over the bedframe. This room was nearly untouched. No broken furniture, no crushed mirrors, only a few scratches in the floorboards by the bed and a little more blood and broken fingernails, when he crouched down by the bed to have a better look. Was this Altaїr who had tried to find a hold on the floorboards like a cat that is dragged away by a forceful human? Yes, definitely something he could imagine. Altaїr was no weakling, he had survived many awful things, but even if he was attending his assassin training as much as possible, he was no fighter for now. He hadn't yet recovered fully from his wounds and not even gained a little weight. He still had a long way to go no matter what he said.

"Nothing." The voice startled him nearly to the pint of having a heart attack or throwing a small knife at Connor's right eye. "House is empty."

Malik could only sigh and wanted nothing more than just sit down on Altaїr's bed to try and settle his thoughts. He couldn't. He couldn’t sit down, he needed to stay focused and act like an assassin not like a big brother (and perhaps lover).

"I'll call Rebecca and Leonardo." Connor then went on and gave his shoulder a reassuring little squeeze. Normally Connor was no one for touching other people and this was why these little gestures of the native counted all the more. "They shall come and grab samples of the blood to test whose it is."

"I think we both know whose blood it is." Malik simply stated when finally brushed his fingers over the scratches in the floorboards to feel them, his voice even and flat. He was an assassin and he needed to remember this right now. He was an assassin and his life was filled with the danger of losing someone dear to his heart or even his own life. And yet, the thought that the Templars or Talal's men knew where he was living made his skin crawl. He knew his son would be safe at Bill's place, but would he be safe in his own home? How should he even tell him about today's events? The little guy knew his Uncle and Altaїr should’ve picked him up.

He was four years old and certainly not stupid.

"Don’t worry, we will find them." Connor murmured but Malik didn’t even listen to him, not even when Connor finally called Leonardo and Rebecca. Rebecca was more their IT-Genius, but she was also a specialist in forensic. And right in that moment, Malik could not care less.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_The night hung low above the little airport and embraced the small private airplanes in pure blackness. The air was cold and biting with frost and the sky a great display of the stars watching the scene unfolding below them hidden between the small private airplanes. There was a group of people standing in the deep shadows of the small building that was the tower, two young men and two young women and a child sleeping on his father's back, his face buried deeply into the crook of the man's neck. The child had short black hair only visible hanging in his forehead for his head was covered by a white hood, just like his father's, his mother, on the other hand, wore a beautiful white hijab made of shining silk complementing her elegant features and her tanned skin even in the darkness of the airfield. Only a few black locks were visible around her soft face, her blue eyes glistening with love and sorrow at the same time. Her husband's face was stern and in his dark eyes was something like melancholy very visible. He wore yesterday's scruff with youthful pride around his firm jaw and his face was that of a father who did was what best for his family no matter how hard and straining._

_It was silent with exception of the engines of the small airplane a few feet away from the group. There was just the whispering of the wind brushing over the airport and gripping at the clothes of the five people surrounded by the shadows of this particular night. The two men stood face to face next to their wives, but the old friends only had eyes for one another. Faheem tried to took the picture of his friend in and save this moment to his memory for it could be the last time they would see each other face to face._

_His eyes fixed themselves on the dark hair of his best friend Umar in front of him; they brushed over his slender figure and his slim face and dark eyes. In the light of the sun, those eyes looked somewhat like amber and often glistened with mischief. The little scars on Umar's forehead and chin told stories of their childhood together. They told the stories of how Umar had the glorious idea of climbing up the fig tree in the courtyard of the old fortress, while their fathers sat behind the thick stone walls discussing something secret with the old man. They told about that time Umar tried to defend his best friend from the older novices and got knocked out after he stumbled over his own feet._

_"So you really are leaving." Umar said and gave his very best to let his voice sound firm and strong when in reality he felt like a little kid being left alone for the very first time by its parents. Faheem knew him well enough to look behind his façade, but he did not say anything about it, instead he just looked over his shoulder and then gestured with a small smirk towards the aircraft._

_"I guess." Faheem replied gently with a small chuckle and saw in the same moment how the smirk on his friends face slowly crumbled and broke into pieces on the floor like his mother's best cup. He thought about all the times they fought each other when they were children and he thought about the times Umar made a face like this - He had never been able to resist the urge to hug him when he looked like this, but this time he finally suppressed the urge to grab him. "Why won't you come with us?" Faheem then sighed quietly. "All you need to do is to get inside this plane, Umar."_

_"You know I can't." The younger man replied and he looked at his wife. Maud crossed her arms in front of her chest, resting above her very prominent belly. It was not long until their first child would be born and by now, neither of them knew if it was a boy or a girl. He hated that he will not be around when his best friend's child would be born. Umar had been there when Malik was born four years ago. They had shared their entire life with each other. They had always been together, had shared their highs and their lows no matter what. He did not want to miss anything that happened in his best friend's life and he did not want Umar to miss anything about his life. He wanted Umar to be there when they would have another child and when Malik would start school. He wanted to see his best friend's child's first steps and hear its first words. He did not want to part ways with Umar and yet he needed to do it for the sake of his own family, for the sake of his wife and his child and their future children._

_"I need to stay." Umar added finally and ruffled through his short hair in the very same manner he always had since he was a child. There was something uncertain about it like he questioned his own decision right in that moment and Faheem knew if he would grill him further he could break in and follow his offer into the States right here, right know and yet he didn’t. Umar would not be Umar if he would follow his lead, he never had. He would not be able to go on happily with his life and with his work if he would follow him and betray his beliefs._

_"Umar" His wife began finally and touched his shoulders, her long and slender fingers pale against the dark fabric of his jacket, her eyes full of understanding when she looked up at Umar, but his friend only shot her a sideways glance. "Maybe we should-"_

_"We need to get going now." Faheem interrupted and it really took him a lot more effort and strength than he liked to admit. Maud looked at him puzzled, knowing that one word of her would have been enough to change her husband's mind about all of this, but Faheem only smiled at her as gently as he could and Maud just nodded. Before she stepped closer to his wife and hugged her briefly in farewell._

\---------

Next time Altaїr opened his eyes it was dark around him. There was nothing but pure darkness, devouring all of his surroundings. His head hurt like it was split into two halves and when he wanted to touch it, he found his slim wrists restrained by a rough rope its fibers cutting into his naked flesh like knives. The longer he kept his eyes open and the longer he tried to stay awake the more pain he felt shooting through his entire body. He could not feel his legs and he could not see them either and that really was enough for him to panic even if it was only for a second. He could not touch his legs with his wrists restrained like this, to see if they were still attached to his body or if they were gone already. All he could feel was the cold hard ground he was lying on. He felt the coolness of the concrete against his forehead and he tried to concentrate on that feeling alone, taking deep breaths like Malik showed him during their training in the past weeks. Deep, deep breaths, in and out and in and out - like a mantra repeating, repeating, repeating in his head to soothe the panic rising like bile in his throat.

He remembered the day, weeks, months, and years on that ship on his way to the US. He remembered the darkness within the container, the smell of all those people pressed together like anchovies in a can; he remembered the feeling of bodies pressing together, of the constant dizziness caused by the toxic air around him. He remembered seeing faintly the slumped bodies of the dead children in one corner, the smell of the rotten flesh and the excrements covering the ground and the clothes, his clothes and the clothes of all the people around him. A can full of pressed together anchovies marinated with shit, piss and vomit. He remembered the vile men groping whatever they found interesting enough to ease their ill minds. He remembered being touched and he remembered women sobbing somewhere in the dark. He remembered that his father always taught him that men were the worst and most feared of the predatory species and the ugliest animal of all. He had never understood what his father meant until he was on that boat.

And now he was there once again and yet he was not.

 _Breathe_ , Malik told him whenever he was shaken by a night terror. _Breathe_ , Malik said whenever Altaїr lost his balance and staggered back into a corner like a beaten dog. He needed to breathe, he needed air to fill his lungs and his whole body and to suppress the pain and find his way back into reality, while he laid there unmoving and unable to see or feel. He tried to imagine the bed in Malik's guestroom - far too soft after years that he slept on the floor - and tried to imagine the feeling of the pillow embracing his head and filling it with cotton after a long and exhausting day of training. He tried to imagine Malik lying next to him - behind him - his right arm curled around him. He tried to imagine Malik's fingers drawing imaginary lines to the thin skin of his chest, ignoring all of his gruesome scars and wounds. He tried to imagine the feeling of Malik's breath against his neck, the tingling sensation against his tender skin and the way he had chuckled when he had noticed the goose bumps all over Altair's body.

However, Malik was not here and he could not breathe. His lungs stung with pain every time he tried to breathe. His head hurt every time he tried to imagine something about Malik, his black hair, his dark eyes, his deep, deep voice, his tanned skin, the little smirk that only lifted one corner (the left one) of his mouth ever so playful at times, his _arm_ … His arm. The arm he lost because of the stupid twenty years old boy that stumbled through Aleppo searching for shelter, searching for something, running from the people following him since he stepped through the city's gates. This boy who thought to be invincible, who thought to be so much cleverer than anyone around him, cleverer than the government or the terrorist, cleverer than really everyone else in the whole wide world until someone showed him he wasn’t. The eagle of Masyaf fell and fell and fell and Altaїr wondered only briefly if his fall would stop at one point - if he would hit the ground at one point and would finally be allowed to rest.

While he was lying there, not even able to lift his upper body by the sheer force of his will to sit, he tried desperately to concentrate on his instincts and his senses like he had done so many years before, like he had done on that boat. He wanted his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but they did not and he could not feel a blindfold either cutting into his skin. There was also no gag keeping him from speaking, yet he did not dare. He could feel the cold concrete against his naked chest, so he was still as he had been in Malik's house. There was the sound of water dripping somewhere around him (to drive him mad?), but he could not really tell where or how far away. Perhaps on the other side of the room. Judging by the feeling against his back, his body rested lying on its right side against a wall. He could feel the fine chips in the paint off the wall; at least he imagined feeling exactly this.

He tried to remember what happened in the house. He remembered hiding under the bed like a child, remembered clinging to the floorboards… His fingers _burnt_. Then there was a small little moan somewhere in the darkness around him, but not so far away like the dripping water ( _drip, drip, drip_ \- with every heartbeat). "Altaїr…?" Kadar's voice. A small part of him was relieved not being alone in here, hearing that Kadar was still alive, but the majority of his head screamed in agony. "Are you there?"

"Yes…" _No_ , he thought. _I am not here. I am only a ghost_. Kadar should not be here. Kadar should sit at home on the couch in the living room and watch crappy telly - as he forced Altaїr to so he could _learn_. He should not be here. Altaїr on the other hand… "I'm sorry…" He whispered quietly in the darkness. "I am so sorry, Kadar."

Because this was his punishment and not Kadar's. He was the traitor leaving Talal behind, fleeing to the assassins _thinking_ he could start a new life, _wishing_ he could fall in love with the brother of the child by his side and would live happily ever after. Kadar had done nothing wrong in his life until now. Altaїr was no innocent man. He had left people behind, even the man who had gave him shelter, knowing he would be stoned to death when those people would find him after Altaїr had left and hadn't warned him. He had endangered his family and the few friends he had because he thought himself a superior human being. He had stolen, cheated, and hurt other people. Kadar did not deserve this. He did not deserve the horror that would await him.

"What happened?" Kadar moaned somewhere in the dark by his side. "Fuck my head feels like someone hit me with a fucking axe."

"I fucked up, Kadar. I fucked up big time." He did. There was no way to put it differently. It was his fault that they were here now and he knew they would not escape this place alive. He heard the rustling of clothes in the vast and empty space around him and then heard the small shuffling sound of something shifting over the ground until he finally felt Kadar bump against his skull. A sharp pain shot through his entire body, but he stifled a small whimper successfully and instead tried to get up. It was not all that easy lifting his upper body without the help of his arms, that were bound behind his back so tightly the ropes scratched his skin raw and bloody. Finally, he sat upright and his brain was pounding against his skull so painfully that the world around him would be black even if someone would turn on the lights. He felt the pulsating sensation behind his eyes, pushing his eyeballs out of his head.

Now he sat right next to the teenager and felt Kadar's shoulder pushing against his own naked skin. It was cold and his whole body shivering and covered with goose bumps once more. "What do you mean? It's not your fault, Altaїr." The boy replied with a hoarse voice. How long had they have been here already? He felt weak, exhausted, and sick.

"Yes, it is." Altaїr moaned. It was. It was. _It was_. No matter what Kadar would say, no matter what Malik would say - it was. What about Tazim? What about Malik? What if something happened to the four-year-old boy too? What if something happened to Malik?

"Who the fuck were those people?" Kadar groaned, but Altaїr only shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "What do you think?" He just asked and closed his eyes against the pain dominating his entire body. "Are you alright?"

"Jah… I guess I'm good. I think I've lost a fucking tooth, but other than this I'm okay." There were a thousand things Altaїr wanted to say, thousands and thousands and thousands of ways to apologize to Kadar, not only for his lost tooth, instead he just kept his silence and Kadar's right knee nudged against his left thigh. "We'll get out of here, don’t worry Altaїr. Malik will come and get us. I bet he's already on his way with the others."

Altaїr really wanted to open his mouth. He wanted to say something - anything - to Kadar. He wanted to agree with him and then again, he wanted to protest and wanted to shove the truth down Kadar's throat. Malik was not on his way with the others. They were alone. They did not know where they were. They were alone. They were helpless. There was nobody to help them. However, even before he could muster an answer there was the sound of heavy footsteps somewhere in the distance before they stopped just a few feet away from the spot where they sat. Then a few electronically beeps like those Altaїr often had heard at the warehouse near the office, whenever Talal locked his safe. Altaїr knew that sound well; he knew what was going to happen and tried to brace himself for it. For the beatings, the torture, the pain, the humiliation, the hands grabbing him and dragging him around like a puppet, the taunting.

A door opened almost soundlessly; there was only a slight hiss and then a silent little scratch when the door was shoved over the concrete. Light flooded the room and filled his head almost instantly. He had no chance to blink against the pain of being blinded and next to him hissed Kadar. "How cute, just look at this." Abbas. Of all people Abbas. Steps again. Heavy, loud and determined footsteps, the sound of heavy work boots stomping (thundering) on the ground, bone crushing loud. He could not see anything. First, his world was filled with blackness, now his world was white and opening his eyes painful. White noise filled his brain before he felt something next to him move and heard the struggle of the teenage-boy against their captors. He could not say if Abbas was alone, but he doubted it.

"No! Let me go!" Kadar groaned and one of his kicking feet hit Altaїr against the shin, then a groan escaped Abbas. Had Kadar hit him too? He should not fight back. It was only more painful when you fight back. He learned this long ago. Just keep your eyes shut, just try to imagine you are somewhere else, just endure it as long as it takes, no matter what kind of punishment it is you need to suffer. Do not fight back. Do not scream. Do not cry.

"I bet his brother will be pleased to get a little souvenir of him, right?" Abbas laughed and another voice grunted in agreement. Swami. They were still here, still with Talal, still his trusty torturers. "What should we take from him? His tongue?" There was a wet sound when Kadar groaned again, it sounded strange, and it sounded like someone held his tongue ready to rip if out of his mouth. "His hand? His fingers? His arm? His leg?" - "His cock?" By now, Kadar was nearly screeching during his constant struggle but still, Altaїr was unable to see what was happening around him. He could not keep his eyes open long enough to get used to the brightness. His head exploded, but his mouth moved even without his brain telling him what to do. "Leave him alone!" He already slurred his words again and his tongue felt heavy inside his suddenly very dry mouth. "Leave him. Just take me instead. You want me, not him. _Please,_ Abbas, let him be." And with that (with this single word, this little _please_ ) the struggle stopped.

"I guess he has a point, hasn’t he, Swami?" Altaїr stopped in his trial of blinking against the light when he finally felt strong hands grabbing him and ripping him from the ground without meeting resistance. If it would save Kadar from their wrath, he would gladly take all that they have got for him.

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The room was lit only by the light of a bunch of monitors all showing different areas of the large complex that was the assassins headquarter, partially underground, partially visible for the people wandering through Boston, only one of the many modern bureau complexes covering the city with many windows and a large fence and surveillance cameras. Malik had seen the images the monitors showed a thousand of times. He knew every corner of this building, every camera watching the steps of the assassins inside the building and every car parking deep down in the basement parking lot and he knew which people would go outside to have a smoke in front of the building.

"Would you please stop that, Malik?" Ezio's voice sounded strained and maybe even a little bit tired when he shot Malik a small warning look from the table he sat at, reading through some documents Al Mualim – _Rashid_ – gave him earlier. Malik stopped instantly in his doing. Not because of Ezio's look (he really didn’t give two flying shits about the way Ezio was looking at him right now or really ever), but because he only just realized that he kept pacing back and forth for what felt like an eternity like a tiger inside a cage. And that was exactly the way he felt. He felt imprisoned. He felt like he had no chance at all to go and do absolutely anything. "It won't help if you keep up on pacing around like an idiot." Ezio finally added, his left eyebrow slightly raised, his chin narrowed in such a way as if he wanted to go back on reading but could not really help but looking at Malik.

Malik was no guy for pacing around like this. He never lost his calm. He always knew what to do – only that he did not. He had no clue what to do. Hours had passed already since he entered his own house with Connor by his side. Hours since he found what he believed to be Kadar's tooth and his broken reading glasses his brother hated so much and would only wear inside the house for he felt like his classmates would make fun of him for needing those reading glasses (just like his older brother did). Still, it felt as if only minutes passed and if he was still at home, still looking down on the blood dried on the floorboards right in front of the guestrooms (of Altaїr's room's) door. He knew Altaїr was a _tough cookie_ , but he could not even imagine the fear ruling his body when he understood that those people were inside the house – searching for him.

He wanted to snap at Ezio for his unnecessary commentary, but he did not. He wanted to say 'what would you do if it was your little brother had gotten abducted?!', but he did not. Ezio knew the feeling well when your family was endangered, when your family was taken from you and when you simply do not know when you will see them again – _if_ you see them again. Instead, he just brushed his right hand over his face and leaned back against the wall on the left side of the only door leading into the room and finally asked: "Where's Connor? Is he back yet?"

Ezio shrugged his shoulders and relaxed against the backrest of the chair before he rubbed over the scruff on his cheeks and chin. He was older now than he was when Malik first met him. Well, of course, he was, but especially now he looked much older than he did only yesterday. The documents he should be reading seemed forgotten. "No not yet, but I think he will be within the next one or two hours."

"For fuck's sake, what is he doing out there?" Malik moaned. Never in his life had he felt more agitated than now. He wanted to act _now_ and he wanted results _now_. "What takes him so long? I can't stay all night!"

"You can, Malik." Ezio would not move towards him or tried to soothe him in anyway. They were good comrades, brothers in arms and Malik trusted him greatly, just as if he trusted Connor, Bill, and Leonardo and of course, Rauf, but he and Ezio were not close friends and Malik was no touchy guy, unlike Ezio. "Tazim stays the night at Bill's place together with Desmond. He is safe with them and you cannot go back to your house until Rebecca isn’t finished there. You should try and find some rest now. I am sure Connor will visit you as soon as he is back."

"I really don’t know what Rebecca and Leonardo are doing there. We don’t need some stupid analysis to know whose blood it is covering my fucking house, Ezio!" His voice grew louder without him intending it to grow louder. He couldn’t help it, he had no chance against it and he really didn’t care as much.

"Well do we?" Ezio then asked and he moved his chair a little from the desk, so he could turn his whole body towards Malik, his elbows resting on the armrests, his long fingers formed to a tent under his chin, his legs crossed while he looked at Malik.

"Of course we know." Malik hissed. Ezio tried to distract him. He knew it and still, he decided to let it happen. "It's Kadar's and Altaїr's. Its Kadar's tooth and Kadar's glasses. It's quite clear to me what had happened."

"But what if it's not their blood? Perhaps they managed to get away somehow? Perhaps they managed to fight back? Perhaps they managed to shed blood and perhaps with that blood _we_ can manage to find out who we need to hunt down."

"It's Talal and his men." Malik declared stubbornly.

"Very likely." Ezio agreed finally. "But then there still is the question how he found him."

"Altaїr hasn’t left the house since he is with me." Malik said and again began pacing through the room very much to Ezio's annoyance, but this time the Italian didn't say anything. "The only time he left the house was when you barged in and grabbed him."

"My apologies for that." Ezio sighed (again after he apologized what felt like a hundred times already). "But if he really hasn’t left the house other than on this one occasion, we still don’t know how Talal's men knew where to find him. I think it's safe to assume that they didn’t know from the beginning because otherwise, they would have grabbed him sooner and not wait that long."

"What are you implying?"

"Well, we know for a fact – based on what Rauf said after the raid – that Talal knew about the raid, right? So we already know someone either spied on us or someone told him – someone inside our ranks."

"So you think we've got a mole?"

"I think it is not unlikely. At least it is much more likely that we've got a mole in our ranks than that it was mere coincidence that Talal's men found Altaїr – or should I say, that they found your house just by coincidence. Even if Altaїr would’ve stayed at one of the windows at all times or danced around in the front yard naked, chances are still slim that they would’ve found him like that. Boston is a big city." Ezio was right and Malik knew he was. Of course, it was quite unlikely that Talal's men were running around Boston searching for Altaїr without at least a hint. The possibility of having a traitor inside the assassins' brotherhood wasn’t that easy to accept for him though and perhaps he already was a little paranoid.

"I agree." He finally stated, but when Ezio opened, his mouth to speak again Malik cut him off immediately. "That is though if Talal's men never saw me with Altaїr. What if they knew right from the start and followed me home at one point? It is quite possible, right?"

"I guess you have a point there, but that would imply that Talal would have supervised Altaїr and I think that is very much unlikely even if he had known that we already tried to whoop his ass. At last, it could’ve really been any of his slaves getting involved with us in some way or the other. It would’ve been even more likely for the ones in the brothels to get involved with us as a _customer_ of sorts. If it had been planned that you would meet Altaїr like this, then yes, I would agree that he perhaps knew about all this and supervised him."

"So the question now is not only _if_ Talal supervised him and let someone following Altaїr or me, but if the meeting of me with Altaїr was planned by somebody." Question after Question but no real answers, only speculations. It was exhausting and frustrating. He had no clue who it was who pulled the strings behind the curtains.

"And with that, the possibility still stands, that Altaїr might be the culprit," Ezio said again with a sour grimace on his face for he already knew Malik's reaction.

"He isn’t. He has no obligation in this. He is just one of Talal's puppets, dancing by his strings and all he wants is to be free again. No, I still don't believe that he is the culprit in all this. There is no reason for him."

"Well, actually he has." Ezio sighed when he met only Malik's stubborn face and his quirked eyebrows. "I just want to say that _if_ Altaїr isn’t the victim in all this and worked together with Talal and his men, then it could’ve been him who planned all of this all along to get to _you_ and with that to get to the assassins. _If_ Talal already knew about our interests in getting his sorry ass to justice, he might have wanted to try and infiltrate us in some way or another. Perhaps he even knew about Altaїr's affiliation with the brotherhood due to his father being a member. _If_ all that was true, it is quite possible that they speculated on getting our trust with Altaїr's bond with the brotherhood."

"But why should they?"

"Perhaps so we would think ourselves safe due to the new found trust in Altaїr's affiliation with the brotherhood, so Altaїr and Talal could feign this kidnapping of Kadar _and_ him. What if Altaїr planned all this so Talal would have something against you to pressure you in either betraying the brotherhood in some way or in letting him get away."

Speculations again. However, Malik still couldn’t deny that it made sense in some way. It was a possibility that he refused to consider to be true but which he couldn’t deny either. He was after all an assassin. He shouldn’t just deny it the possibility to be true just because he didn’t like this theory. He didn’t like it not because he didn’t want to assume that Altaїr could be a lying bastard, but because he didn’t want to accept the possibility that he could’ve been cheated into believing this guy and even letting him so close to his family – taking him even to his bed!

He still remembered the way his skin felt under his right hand's fingers when Malik explored his body and the many, many scars covering his lean body, mourning every inch of torn skin. He could still hear the sweet moans and soft sighs of a man who hadn't felt his body growing hot and tingling like this in ages. He had loved hearing him moan and begging for more, writhing in his sheets like the greedy beast he was. Since his wife's death, he hadn't had sex at all and he had loved the satisfaction of being still able to reduce someone to a moaning, shivering mess. He hadn't played him. No. Malik was sure of that. Altaїr hadn't played him last night, but still, this didn’t mean that Ezio's theory couldn’t be right.

He couldn’t think straight anymore.

"Perhaps you are right." Malik agreed once more and stopped his pacing in the middle of the room, only to look at the monitors once again. They still looked the same. Nothing of interest. He saw Aveline walking past Camera eight on her way towards the ladies room. He saw Edward tossing paper into the bin for plastic. Connor would rip him a new one. It wasn’t like Malik to be distracted like this. It wasn’t like him to not consider the things Ezio theorized about in the first place. He was a suspicious man and rightly so! Altaїr did a good job turning his head without him even noticing it. However, was it really possible that he fell for his tricks?

No, he thought again. It simply wasn’t possible that he fell for another man like this in such a short time. This feeling of acknowledgment - now understandable after he really had seen him long before - wasn’t imagination, even though it lost its magic now somehow. Now that he knew that, he really had seen the guy before in Aleppo. Of course, he probably wouldn’t even have remembered him if the situation in which they met wouldn’t have been such a traumatic experience. Perhaps a small part of him had wanted to believe in something magical, something like fate that connected them. It had been almost too perfect that Altaїr too was the offspring of an assassin. It had been too good to be true, hadn't it?

He noticed the concerned look Ezio shot him, but before he could really say anything else, the door to the room was yanked open only to reveal Claudia Auditore's pretty face. She didn’t acknowledge her brother's existence in the room when she looked at Malik with her warm brown eyes. She still wore the very same kind of business clothing as her brother; for there was no need changing into the clothing, she would wear on a mission – not yet. Like every time he saw her (which wasn’t that often for Claudia was mostly traveling between Europe and the US or hid in her office for days) she wore a black suit and high heels, her long wavy, brown hair open and her curls framing her face. She was that kind of businesswoman all men would turn their heads for but wouldn’t dare to confront. Her beauty was somewhat intimidating for people who didn’t really know her.

"Malik, there you are." She said with her thick Italian accent (not so thick as her brother's but still enough to instantly tell where she was from) and flashed him a small smile, her red-red lips curling ever so softly. "I knew I would find you here with my brother."

"Hello to you too, dear sister." Ezio murmured somewhere behind Malik's back but neither of them really bothered looking at him; instead, Malik just raised his brows in surprise. What would come next? Another incident? Another catastrophe? "How can I help you?" He finally managed to ask, even if he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any task Al Mualim could give him in this situation. Al Mualim – Rashid – was a good guy. At least that was what they told him when he first got here and after all, it was him who took care of Malik's arm, but still there was something odd about him. It had never been so clear to Malik than during the past weeks when his mentor would constantly send him out for some devious tasks, which would have to do nothing at all with their current predicament or main focus. He wouldn’t deal with another of those tedious tasks just because the old man felt like distracting him.

Claudia smirked as if she knew what he was thinking and Malik wouldn’t be surprised if she did. "I am only here to tell you that Rauf is finally awake. He asked for you and it seemed like he had something he needed to tell you."

For just a moment Malik didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave. He wanted to be here – right here – when Rebecca and Connor would finally come back with new results for him to worry about. "I'll give you a call if anything happens." Ezio assured him behind his back. Claudia wasn’t the only member of the Auditore clan who could read minds. Malik nodded although he didn’t want to. He wasn’t in the mood to concentrate on anything Rauf could say to him, even though he was relieved that his friend was seemingly alright and would get better. They fought side by side in a war for god's sake! Of course he was glad he was getting better, but still…

"Follow me." Claudia then said and without him noticing she had stepped farther into the room and grabbed his shoulder gently. At least Rauf was in the same building; at least he wouldn’t need to drive to some hospital somewhere in this city to see him. So he flashed a small glance to the monitors once again, but then he followed the younger Auditore outside. There was nothing else to do for him anyway in here. In no way would he find the means to concentrate on those stupid documents, no need for him to read them anyway.

They wandered through the mazelike corridors with all the ease they accomplished during the years of working in this building. In the beginning, Malik had to use the mini-map (how Rebecca called it) on his PDA to navigate through the building so he wouldn’t run accidently in one of the shooting ranges or offices or even the various private rooms.

Rebecca's lab was located downstairs in the basement where she would work together with Leonardo on occasion, but the Italian could be mostly found in his workshop (also in the basement). It was also the basement where their _interrogation rooms_ were - the place, where Connor dragged Altair to. Their infirmary (the little hospital, how they called it unofficially) was stationed at the far end of the building separated from the bureaus and workplaces and training areas through a glass bridge on the second floor leading the way above the small park between the two parts of the building. On rainy days Malik liked to visit the glass bridge and stay a little while to look over the city wand watch the rainfall. He didn’t really know why, but rain was somewhat soothing for him. He loved thunderstorms and rain and the somewhat apocalyptic feeling while watching the weather like this unfolding in front of his eyes. Now he neither had the time nor the means to stop halfway through the bridge to watch the city engulfed in darkness or to imagine all the lives within this town.

They stopped when they reached the door of the room Rauf was in. Malik could see his friend through the little window in the door after they walked in silence through the white corridors and hallways that looked exactly the same. He didn’t like the sterile white complicity of the building, but who was he to complain about it? It was his workplace and it was better than some hideout in the woods or the old stone fortress in Masyaf towering over the small village. Still, the complex always felt cold to him and unfriendly especially during the last few months although he couldn’t really pinpoint why exactly he felt this way.

He didn’t like it at least that was for sure.

"You are worried." Claudia said when he reached for the door handle to enter the room and he flashed her just a small glance that was enough to say how stupid this statement was. Of course, he was worried. His family was in danger. His brother had been kidnapped; his house had been broken into. His fortress was lost. However, Claudia went on without even bothering to take notice of the way he looked at her. "Of course you are. We are all worried for your brother and that your son could be in danger too, but Malik, we will do our very best to get him back and find a solution. You'll see it will be just fine."

Claudia knew what it meant to lose brothers – to lose family – just as well as her older brother Ezio, but she wasn’t very good in soothing other people. She was a warm-hearted woman, that was for sure, but she was also somewhat stony and aloof. She understood other people's feelings, but she couldn’t handle them well. Her life as an assassin had made her hard and unforgivable. "You might be right." Malik finally answered, but his expression remained rigid. What about Altaїr? - He thought. It seemed Claudia belonged to those people who already accepted the possibility of Altaїr being the culprit as truth, but on the other hand was Claudia a woman intelligent enough to not believe something like this without any proof whatsoever. She laid her hand softly on his left shoulder and remained for a moment like this before she finally turned and walked away. There was business to take care of.

The Auditores were a family of strong minds - of leaders and Malik knew that some of the other assassins envied them for that, but he also had seen Ezio break down once before. He had seen how a man like him could be reduced to tears in the arms of a friend when the reality he was living came crashing down on him. He reminded him a little on Altaїr, for Ezio never knew he would become an assassin at one point in his life. He hadn’t planned all this, it just happened after his families' death when he himself had been but a kid - a teenager. At first, it was vengeance that moved him forward and didn’t allow him to crumble down to the ground, and then it was the truth he was seeking and hadn’t found yet. Claudia on the other hand … well. She decided to follow her brother's example after she lost everything she had and had nothing to really look forward to anymore. She was working mostly behind the scenes unlike her brother and refrained from killing as much as possible, but not because she was weak or couldn’t stand killing. She seemed bored with it; she seemed as if the killing was the dull and dirty work others could take care of, while she ensured the survival of the brotherhood and their diplomatic alliances worldwide.

There were a lot of families like the Auditores worldwide, dynasties of assassins and sometimes Malik found even a little pride in the fact that his own family was also one of those dynasties, but in the same instant it was like a curse passed on from father to son and resistance wasn’t allowed. The Kenway family was the best example for that.

Finally, after Claudia vanished behind a corner and after he couldn’t hear her footsteps (the _click-clack_ of her high heels) anymore either, he opened the door to the room Rauf was staying in. The brotherhood took all the efforts to make this infirmary look like a real hospital. Well … it _was_ a real hospital. The doctors were real doctors, the equipment was real, and the patients were real. Still, Malik would rather have it be a normal infirmary so he wouldn’t need to visit his friend (his best friend) in a hospital room with beeping machines all around his bed. He hated places like this for it reminded him too much of what he had lost. His left arm was hurting and stinging with pain when he entered the room and closed the door behind him and Malik knew that this would never go away. Perhaps it would be better if Altaїr was the traitor and if he would never see him again, for then Altaїr wouldn’t remind him again and again and again on that day in the dusty streets of Aleppo.

He felt weak thinking this. Five years had passed since then and still, he couldn’t forget and still, he couldn’t accept, but now he would gladly give his other arm if it meant he would get his brother back safely. Kadar was all he had left of his family. It had been always the two of them, him and his brother against the rest of the world. He showed him how to tie his shoelaces and how to ride a bicycle, he held him in his arms when their parents died and dried his tears. He had nursed him when he had been sick and worried about him during school. He couldn’t lose him too.

"Would you wipe that frown off your face?" Rauf's voice was hoarse from sleep when he laid eyes on Malik but he wouldn't pry a smile from his friend, even though he would’ve normally with a greeting like this. Instead, Malik crossed the room with long and swift steps and finally sat down on the chair beside his bed, the frown still cemented on his face before he rubbed his hands over it.

"How are you?" Malik finally asked after he cleared his throat and did his best to ignore the medical equipment stationed in the room, but Rauf only waved at him with a small grin. He looked way older than Malik remembered him to be.

"I had it worse." Rauf then stated. "But I've already heard what happened while I was knocked out. How are you holding up?"

It didn’t really surprise him that much that Rauf already had been informed of the events of this day or the previous weeks after all the brotherhood was in turmoil. Perhaps it had been even Claudia who told him about all that happened. His friend's eyes rested somewhat sympathetic on his face and he appreciated it, but it didn't make anything better, so Malik shrugged his shoulders. "I'm fine." He said and they both knew it was a lie. Of course, he wasn’t fine. How should he be fine in a situation like this? He saw that Rauf wanted to say something, but he didn't want to dwell on that topic any longer, so Malik cut him off before he could speak up again. "Claudia said you needed to talk to me. What is it?"

He saw how Rauf searched for the little device on his bed, which would raise the head of his bed just a little and when he found it and pressed the button the bed moved just enough so Rauf could sit up a little, pain still visible in his eyes even though his wounds already started to heal. "I wanted to talk to you about the night of the raid of course." Rauf then said his voice lowered to a whisper as if he was afraid someone could listen to them and Malik could only scrunch his eyebrows at that. He actually had to lean forward a bit so he would hear what his friend had to say. "When Rashid visited me before I said I hadn’t found anything that night when I got shot, but I managed to get in Talal's office once again and searched his documents."

"So what did you find? Did you manage to find something about the rat that informed Talal about the raid?" So Rauf had been awake a while and no one informed him until now? It shouldn’t really surprise him, it was only normal that Rashid would try and talk to him first, but still he felt the small sting of betrayal in his guts. He noticed how Rauf shifted on his bed and how his eyes glanced around the room before he lowered his voice once more.

"I did." He then said. "Do you remember one of Talal's handymen, Abbas?" Malik nodded just a little.

"Of course. How could I forget that slimy creature?" He then groaned.

"Did you know that his father had been an assassin once? His father, Ahmad Sofian, stayed in Syria when the rest of the brotherhood, your father and Rashid moved to the US. He stayed there as a contact man, but he hung himself a few years after that, for he betrayed one of his brothers back in Syria and got him killed. I forgot about all this until I read Abbas' surname in Talal's documents."

Malik remembered what Altaїr had told him about his father and the man who had been responsible for them being followed which led to his father's beheading. He felt a lump somewhere in his throat. Of course he didn’t know anything about all this, otherwise, he had perhaps known about Altaїr too. "This man that died because of Ahmad's betrayal was Altaїr's father Umar." Malik then murmured his voice just as silent as Rauf's. "But what has this to do with the rat?" - Because Abbas wasn’t a member of the brotherhood. He had never been and he never would be one. He couldn’t be the one responsible for the raid failing like this and for Talal getting away.

"I've had the chance to talk a little bit with Abbas." Rauf then whispered. "He isn’t the smartest guy but his colleague Swami is even dumber. He told me how Abbas' never apprehended that his father really killed himself out of his bad conscience for Umar's death. He told me that Abbas even found out about the man who had been killed because of his father and when it happened to be that Altaїr got into Talal's claws he saw his chance to let him suffer for what had happened to his father and the shame of his alleged suicide. So it was no surprise really that Abbas had it in for Altaїr all the time."

Malik didn’t know much about this Abbas. It was quite hard to find out enough information about Talal's handymen or event their personal lives, but now he felt the lump only grow bigger. He felt sick, imagining that Altaїr was back at this place and at the mercy of the man that probably hated him the most for what happened between their fathers. It wasn’t Altaїr's fault, but perhaps Abbas thought different. "That's a problem." He murmured. "But still it doesn’t say anything about the man responsible for the failed raid, Rauf."

"Yes it does, Malik." Rauf then hissed quietly and glanced over Malik's shoulder, before they locked eyes once again. "In Talal's documents, I found the name of a man he allegedly has business with. There are large sums moving between those two. And now guess whose name it was I've found!"

"Rauf I don’t know, just tell me, I am in no mood for those games."

"It was _Umar_ , Malik. Umar Ibn-La'Ahad."

"Umar is dead, Rauf." Malik groaned.

"Exactly!"

Finally, Malik leaned back just a little and again ruffled through his already messy black hair. He needed to focus. He needed to concentrate. It didn’t make sense. Of course, Umar's name had been used purposefully to hide the real identity of the culprit, but if so then the name had been chosen by someone who already knew the name. Still, it couldn't be Abbas, could he? However, what if Abbas had helped Talal and this business partner with exactly this name. However, why? "Do you think it was Altaїr all along too?"

"Bullshit." Rauf hissed. "Why should he go through all this and help those people? Don't be stupid Malik."

"Perhaps he was angry for the brotherhood hasn’t helped him back then."

"Perhaps." Rauf agreed. "If he knew about all this what I firmly doubt. No, it wasn’t Altaїr, I am sure of this also he isn’t a part of the brotherhood and I don’t think that he knew about the raid. Of course, he could’ve spied on you during his stay at your house and found out about it, but I don’t believe this. I've seen him in this room back then and no man in his right mind would let something so severe happen to him just to infiltrate the house of an assassin. It was someone inside the brotherhood who still knows about Umar even after all those years and I believe the name was purposefully chosen to hint the bond between this Mr. X and Abbas in some way or another. Perhaps Abbas was even a part of this deal, perhaps this mysterious person even bribed him with the opportunity to clear his father's name or get his revenge on Umar and Altaїr like this. I don’t know the reasons yet, Malik, but I know that there is a connection. Perhaps they even tried to hint that way that Altaїr could've something to do with all this for using his father's name."

"What are you implying, Rauf?" Malik then sighed. "I guess there are a lot of people who still know about Umar. I mean his name is written in the chronic just next to my father's. Really anybody could’ve seen and used the name."

"You are right, with that." Rauf then agreed. He looked strained and somewhat tired after being interrogated by Al Mualim before. "But there are no people left who really knew Umar personally or who would know about his son and his connection with the Sofian's right?"

He had a point. Most of the Syrian Assassins, which could've known about Umar, were already dead or stationed in other countries. The generation of their fathers nearly was lost by now due to the endless war about the dominance of the US with the Templars. Well, actually there was only one person left. Rauf looked at him in a way, which made it very clear that he already knew the name of the culprit but wouldn’t say it out loud and Malik understood. He felt lost and helpless, but he didn’t know also how to proof those allegations.

"Why should he do something like this?" He only whispered, but Rauf shrugged his shoulders with a faint smirk.

"Why does anyone does anything, Malik? Money. Power. Perhaps something like a truce with the Templars? They were his _pupils_ , Malik. Umar, Ahmad, and your father. They were his best pupils in the old days and he outlived them!"

There was a sudden knock on the door behind Malik's back and they both flinched visibly. There was no threat to be sensed from this knock for if they were to be killed for finding out the truth, they would be already dead by now. When Malik glanced over his shoulder he could see Edward's face in the small window of the door, a worried expression visible in his sun-kissed features. Had something happened to Connor? The brotherhood seemed to crumble with every passing hour!

"Be careful." Rauf warned him at last when Malik stood from his spot on the chair he had occupied and Malik placed his right hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You too." He replied before he turned to leave the room. He did not want to see Edward or really anyone at all. He needed to think. He needed to process what he just had learned. He felt horrible betrayed, but still, a part of him would not accept all this as truth because he would just reduce himself to be the puppet of this man if he would accept it as truth. What if this man really arranged all of this? What if he was the responsible one for the kidnapping of his brother and Altair (for the possibility of the death of his brother and Altair)?

"Sorry to interrupt, mate." Edward said when Malik left the room and closed the door behind him, his voice low and somewhat conspiratorial. "But Rebecca just came back from her little expedition in your house and there is something she needs to show you. We've got mail."

 


	9. Chapter 9

_"You are stuck, aren’t you?" Faheem's voice sounded through the headset and Umar had no other choice than making a grimace for the nearly deafening sound of his best friend's voice so loudly in his ears._

_"No…" He said. He lied. Moreover, his best friend knew exactly that he was lying. There was neither forth nor back at this point. Only darkness in front of him and darkness behind him. His flashlight was out of reach now, so he could not even move enough to switch it on and light the way – not that it would matter anyway. He knew the layout of the ventilation system by heart._

_"Why did you want to use the vents anyway?" Faheem laughed in his ear. Of course, he laughed. The laugh is always on the loser._

_"It looks cool in movies." Umar groaned. "Now get me out of here!"_

_"How am I supposed to get you out? Shall I crawl into the vents to and pull? Well, I think, dear friend, you need to stay where you are until you are thin enough again to get through. It seems you feasted a little bit out there. You had the order to **spy** not to eat."_

_"I didn’t eat anything! I was busy **spying** on people."_

_"Well, and the vents haven’t gone narrower during the last hour, right? So get your lazy ass moving, Umar! We're running out of time until the ventilation system will be turned on again."_

_"I can't! I am fucking stuck, you idiot! Get someone to help me! And stop laughing, it's not so fucking funny!" He needed to keep his voice down a little bit, so he would not be heard through the vents, but the microphone of his headset was so sensitive that even a whisper could blare his best friend's ears, just as Faheem's laugh blared in his own ears. Umar loved working with his best friend, what he did not like that much was crawling through narrow spaces as this and still he proposed it himself. He did not propose this idea because it looks cool – he was not **that** stupid and reckless, although he was reckless at times. Faheem hated this and often enough he needed to stitch his best friend back together during the past years. _

_They were still young. Not long ago they were novices in training under Rashid ad-Din Sinan, their mentor, and shepherd. Now they were not novices anymore. They were masters of their profession and they knew what they were doing – at least most of the time. It was not all that often that he had the chance to go on a mission with Faheem. Normally they worked alone, but he was glad that it was now Faheem who would look after him on this one. He trusted him with his life if necessary. However, suddenly there was silence on the other end and for a short moment, which felt more like an eternity to him Umar panicked. What if the line went dead? What if he was now alone in this freaking vent? Desperately he tried to wiggle free from his entrapment. The truth was that he just went into the wrong direction at one point and was not where he was supposed to be right now. This vent was narrower and he had no clue how long this more narrow part went. How the fuck was he supposed to know? How the fuck was he supposed to get out? All he could do was try and wiggle forward like a worm until he would find the next exit. He would rather sneak his way through the building by foot then crawl any further. He could not be all that far away from the exit he was supposed to use in order to get back to Faheem, so he could as well sneak through the rooms. It was much easier to sneak on foot like that, then crawling soundlessly through the vents._

_"Faheem?" He whispered, still wiggling and groaning in desperation. His knees hurt and so did his hands. He felt dizzy. Not long and the maintenance men would notice that they shut off the ventilation system and would turn it back on. He would die in here like some vermin! " **Faheem!** " Was he dead? Had someone found the van and fucking killed him? Did he choke on his fucking sandwich? When they knew that he was inside their vents, they would try to fucking boil him alive!_

_"You need to get out. Now." Faheem's breath was hitched and Umar's panic only rose. At least he was back._

_"What happened? I cannot get out! I am stuck, Faheem, I am not even remotely kidding now!" Then finally, he felt how his stuck hips moved a bit due to the work of his arms, clawing at the nearest grill to pull himself out of his misery. Faheem would never let him hear the end of this as soon as he would be free once again and Umar was sure his friend would not even waste a second to tell all the others in the brotherhood about his dilemma._

_"Ahmad called. My wife is in labor. My son is about to be born. You need to get out now!"_

_"I don’t care, Faheem!" Umar moaned. Of course, he cared. His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat was running from his light-colored hair over his forehead and dripping from the tip of his nose. Slowly he managed to pull himself farther towards the grill and he felt how the narrow space widened once again. "I can't go faster, you need to wait for fuck's sake!"_

_"She will literally kill me if I miss the birth of my first son, Umar! She will rip my head off and feed it to the pigs, you know my wife! She will tell Malik about his neglecting father who wasn’t even there when he was born because of his idiotic best friend that was stuck in a fucking vent!"_

_"You really shouldn’t curse like this, when you'll have kids, you know? This is not a really good example."_

_"Oh shut your mouth and get your fat ass moving!"_

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His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage, while Altair was dragged through the door of his new prison on limp and lifeless feet. He could feel his naked feet dragging over the concrete, so they were still existent at last. This numb feeling he felt before slowly (so slowly) left his legs, but still, he could not really move them. He was but a ragdoll in the hands of his captors and he heard Kadar scream behind him before the door slammed shut. "No! Altair! Do not do it! Please let him be!" The teenager screamed, but met only deaf ears and was answered with the deep-voiced laugh of Abbas' by Altair's left side. " _Altair!"_ Kadar's shout died away behind the heavy door. The sound of it falling shut was outside the cell much louder and echoed from the walls around, nearly deafening him, almost letting his skull explode.

"What do you want?" Altair snarled - well he tried to, but his voice let him down once more. He had no strength left in his broken body but, of course, he knew it was just the beginning. For now, he got away with two blows to his head (at least that was what he remembered).

"Don’t worry. We will bring you back to your lover boy A.S.A.P, but first, the boss wants to see you, Altair. Talal missed you dearly, you know? He can't wait to have his lost sheep back in his arms." Swami laughed at Abbas' commentary and Altair only felt dull panic somewhere inside his throbbing head. He was not surprised. He had known he was not safe with Malik. No matter where he would turn to for shelter, he was never safe and he would never be safe as long as Talal was out there, lurking behind dark corners.

He should not be afraid, yet he was. He already knew what was coming and he had had more than enough time to speculate and fantasize about the things that were about to happen to him when he would meet Talal once more. He could not expect any kind of mercy, but what if they would try to use him for infiltrating the assassins? What if they would try to play Malik? What if he already knew about the kidnapping? Altair had no clue at all how much time already passed. Hours? Days? He did not know what happened after those bastards got him, he did not even know if they were on the hunt for Tazim or if they already had the little guy or if they set traps for Malik. What if something already happened to him?

"Yes … that's what I guessed." Altair murmured but he was not even sure if he said it aloud. He only concentrated on his feet being dragged over the rough concrete and his surroundings. His eyes finally got used to the lights around him, but still, he was blinded by them and could only hardly make out the environment he was in. The corridor he was dragged along was lit by loud neon lamps hanging under a narrow ceiling, the walls were gray and looked a lot like the building was still under construction. It was a cellar of sorts that was for sure, no windows to be seen, and just a few closed doors, which they passed on their way to Talal. The floor was just plain, naked concrete, just like the ground in the warehouse, but Altair was sure they were not in the warehouse - at least not in the very same one. Talal sure had many hiding places and Altair only wondered briefly if the assassins already knew where they were. He could only play along, could only try to buy some time - not for him but for Kadar. He could not risk that Malik's brother would be hurt because of him. He already lost his arm, because of him - no matter what Malik would say.

The hallway seemed endless, but at least he did not need to listen to Swami and Abbas' taunting for there was this white noise in his ears again. He could blend them out after all this time he spent with those two in the warehouse. He held his gaze lowered to the ground so they would not see the spark of hatred in his amber eyes. He would have his revenge. He knew it. At some point, he would have his revenge - that was, of course, if he would manage to survive long enough. The hallway ended with a small staircase. The steps were narrow and uneven, when Abbas and Swami dragged him upstairs, having a hard time already walking side by side with him in the middle. There was sunlight somewhere above his head. Windows in the ceiling. Another warehouse? The factory perhaps? It stank after chemicals and bleach and only vaguely Altair saw large machines around out of the corner of his eyes and cowering figures here and there. The factory - no doubt it was the factory or at least one of them. The assassins would have a hard time getting in without the risk of harming innocent people.

Perhaps it was not the dumbest idea of Talal hiding inside one of his many, many other establishments. It would not be all that easy for the assassins to find him among his slaves and it would certainly take them more than enough time to find his hiding spot like this. He noticed dirty faces in dark corners, pity souls yearning for help, for something to eat or to drink, tired of their ongoing labor with broken backs and shattered legs. He spotted chains, linked to some of the machines and workbenches, shackles that would bind those poor people to them to work and work and work. He could have had ended right here and perhaps this was still the better fate than being sent to one of those brothels and whorehouses.

Abbas and Swami dragged him through one of the probably many halls of the factory into a dark, narrow corridor. For him, it was nearly pitch-black, but at least they seemed to know where to go and with that Swami opened a door somewhere to his right-hand side and Abbas pushed him violently inside. Altair's legs were still wobbly, tired, and numb and due to his bound hands, he had no chance at all keeping himself up. He stumbled into the unknown room and was greeted with loud neon lamps once again when he slumped to the floor like a drunk. It was ridiculous and pathetic, but he could not do much against it.

Talal was in the room, standing behind a simple wooden desk, staring at him and making a face like the one he was staring right at a dirty cockroach wandering over his favorite meal. He looked older than Altair remembered, but perhaps it only was the terrible lighting. His beard was a little more unkempt than usual, perhaps because Talal had not had the chance to go home and groom himself properly, but his black hair still was tightly slicked back and he wore still one of his black striped suits. He looked just like he looked in his nightmares. "We've missed you, Altair." Talal purred when he finally moved closer to him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed how Abbas closed the door. Swami was not in the room and Altair guessed he stood on guard outside or he was gone to watch the slaves. "You’ve got us very worried, you know?" And another step towards Altair. He already braced himself, but, of course, he knew there was no way he could really brace himself for what was next to come. When Talal finally crossed the distance he suddenly grabbed his hair like the many, many times he did before, but this time it hurts about ten times more for the wounds of his head.

He managed to stifle the cry of pain rising inside his throat before it could escape. He would not give him the pleasure of a scream or a cry. The familiar grabbing and ripping on his hair now felt like Talal was about to rip off his scalp entirely. Altair clenched his jaw, but he forced his eyes to stay open when Talal moved his face right in front of his. He snarled and looked like he wanted to spit right into his face. He did not. Not yet that was. "Did you have a good time among these assassins?" He snarled right into his face and gripped his hair tighter as if he knew the pain that was flooding through his entire body, forming black spots around his field of vision already. "Did you have fun being fucked by this dirty pig? I bet he made you squeal like one yourself, am I right?" Altair did not say anything. There was no way of degrading himself to answer such a question, but Talal grabbed him once again harder and finally Altair could not suppress the scream in his throat anymore. Behind him, he could hear Abbas laugh - a sound that made the hair of his neck rise. "Am I right, darling?" He repeated his question, his face remaining straight with no hint of a smile whatsoever.

"Yes." Altair growled and cursed himself.

"Yes, what? I want to hear you say it, Altair. Don’t play dumb, you know how to behave, sweetheart. Did he make you squeal like a pig when he fucked you in the ass?" Altair didn’t want to know how Talal knew about him and Malik. Perhaps he didn’t _know_ , perhaps he only speculated, perhaps he watched them for a while until he lunged at him - perhaps … it didn’t matter. It really didn't matter _if_ Talal really knew about them or if he just speculated about them. It didn’t matter if Altair really had slept with Malik or not or if he had enjoyed it or not. It was a game and Altair didn’t want to play it, but he had to in order to survive perhaps long enough and in order to keep Kadar safe. At least that was what he told himself when he pried his jaw open once again to speak up again.

"Yes, he made me squeal like a pig. Yes, I enjoyed being fucked in the ass." He hissed with gritted teeth and again Abbas laughed, but finally Talal did let go of his hair. Without noticing Altair gasped for breath when he was released, the pain was flooding back to his head in a wave of heat after being drenched away with every second Talal held him like a dog.

"Well, isn't that a shame, Abbas?" Talal sighed then before he stepped back. "The poor bastard. I am afraid we can't send you back home to your little lover boy, but he will get a souvenir of you. Perhaps he can use it to shove it up his own ass this time." He could see him gesturing towards Abbas and then his desk, but he couldn’t really recognize the gesture. That was until Abbas pulled him to his feet once again and shoved him against the desk. He hit the tabletop with his crotch when Abbas bent him over the desk and Altair already expected to hear the sound of a zipper being undone or his pants being shoved down. But nothing like this happens instead Abbas cut the ropes that bound his hands and grabbed his left wrist with all the fierce he had to press it down next to Altair's head on the desk. He turned his head to see what was happening to him and when he saw the glistening of cold, hard and unforgiving steel in Abbas' hand his heart stopped.

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It wasn’t a clean cut. The skin was torn and jagged where the knife had cut through skin and bone. It was a poor job of an amputation that was for sure. It hadn’t been fast, it hadn’t been painless. It had been pure torture, an agonizing cutting and sawing through the skin, then through flesh and at last through the bone. Perhaps, whoever did this, hadn’t even aimed for the finger. It looked like a mistake to Malik, when he stared down on the lonely finger lying on Rebecca's desk just like this. There was more than enough blood on the pale skin of the dead body part.

It was delivered to them via mail as if it was nothing special whatsoever. The envelope laid next to the finger and the little plastic back it had been in so the blood wouldn’t stain the letter that was sent to them. For now, Malik hadn’t the muse to even look at the piece of paper lying there – simply lying there just like this finger, like this part of a human body. For a split second, when he saw what Rebecca wanted to show him, his heart sunk into his pants. He had thought it to be his brother's finger, but then he noticed that the skin was too pale to be Kadar's even in death. It was Altair's finger. Altair's seemingly left ring finger, torn from his body just an inch under the middle joint. For a moment he was glad that it wasn’t Kadar's finger and then he was devastated once more when he tried to imagine the amount of pain Altair was going through in this moment, while he stood here. Someone ripped his finger off and sent it to them – to _him_ – to taunt them. What if he was already dead? He was but hours in their hands but still, they already managed to cut off his finger and send it to them! A few hours were more than enough time for a long and agonizing death, wasn’t it?

"The finger was cut off while he was still alive." Rebecca then said in this clear and matter-of-fact fashion she always talked with. It was as if she could read his mind, but then again it wasn’t all that hard to imagine what he was thinking of right now. "So we know at least that Altair was still alive when his finger was cut off."

"So it is Altair's finger?" Ezio murmured. He stood just next to Malik at the table, looking down on the gift sent by those bastards and suddenly Malik didn’t want him to look. He didn’t really know why, but suddenly he didn’t want anyone to look at Altair's finger like that – especially not those people who thought of him as a traitor.

"Yes. I already compared the blood on it with the sample we have in the database. It isn’t Kadar's blood, so…"

"You have a blood sample of my brother in your database?"

"Of course." Rebecca looked at him with a mix of confusion and a lack of understanding in her dark eyes. "Well, I mean _I_ didn’t take it if that’s what you're concerned about. It was already here when I began working in this lab. We have blood and DNA samples of all our assassins and their offspring's. Just in case."

"Yeah … in case someone cut off body parts from one of us and send them via mail." Ezio snorted.

"Well, aren’t you glad that we have the database?" She smirked. Of course, she smirked. Of course, they could chat about those things as if it was nothing at all. They were used to blood and violence. For Rebecca it was just work, nothing special, for Ezio it was work and he wasn’t seriously concerned as long as it wasn’t Kadar's finger lying around. But for Malik, it was not _nothing special_. For him, it wasn’t just work. It was Altair. Altair who already suffered through so much and still wasn’t allowed to rest. He couldn’t protect him although he told him he would be safe with him - with the assassins. He had let him down.

"At least our dear friend Talal wants to make sure we get Altair back. Piece by piece at least that is what the letter says. The more time will pass without us meeting his demands, the more body parts we will receive. So until you don’t want to box him up and store in your fridge to eat him, we sure should think about a solution for this problem."

Malik had troubles finding his voice once more and when he did his throat felt hoarse and he himself felt sick to the stomach. He wanted to throw up. "But what does he want? Money?"

"I bet he will let us know what he wants." Ezio mumbled before he picked up the letter once more to read the hideous thing.

"Yes, I am sure of this, but how? Will he send us another part of Altair with his demands? We can't just sit here and do nothing, for god's sake!"

"As long as we don’t know where the rat is hiding with your brother and Altair, we can't do anything, Malik. I know this sucks ass, but we can't help it." Edward finally said and until now Malik already almost forgot about him being in the same room. He stood near the door, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his expression hard as stone. When Edward looked like this he resembled his grandson greatly. Connor … Malik could only hope he would come back soon and that he perhaps found them. He didn’t know anyone as good as Connor when it came to tracking down people.

But still, the half-native boy was gone for a long time now. Perhaps he lost track of them and now tried to at least found something so he wouldn't come back home empty handed. Yes … this was like Connor. He didn’t like to disappoint people. He was someone who wanted to be good and to satisfy other people's wishes. He was obedient – in a way at least. Ezio once told him the story about Connor and his father Haytham and how Haytham almost managed to alienate Connor from the assassins. Connor might be an obedient guy – in a way – but he was no puppet and he had his own free will and so this whole ordeal had ended in the death of his father. Since then he was a different guy – at least this was what Ezio told him. Even Edward was different, he said.

"Unless we find the rat inside our brotherhood and force this information out of him." Malik then growled. Rage always took the better of him and he knew that. It was rage and vengeance. Rage because someone had hurt his brother and kidnapped him and vengeance for Altair and his lost finger. He didn’t even have the chance to speak to Altair about the events of last night. They had just enjoyed each other's company, lying entangled in the bed sheets and in one another, sweaty and exhausted. Altair's head had rested on his stomach and Malik had listened to him mumbling sleepy stories about the stars and how his father had called him after the brightest star in the constellation of Aquila or how his father would draw this very same constellation over his cradle (and later his bed) on the ceiling. Malik had only listened and chuckled every now and then when Altair's slender fingers had drawn the lines of said constellation on his skin – into the palm of his hand, onto his chest and stomach. He himself hadn’t said much during those hours, he had just enjoyed hearing him talk, watching his eyes light up every now and then. It had felt nice, really nice. But they fell asleep without talking about _them_. They weren't a couple just because they had had sex and they both knew this very well. Altair was no innocent little boy to not know those things. It wasn’t love. Love was too big of a word, but he liked him and the thought of him being tortured right then and there was driving him insane!

He couldn't stand the thought of Altair screaming in agony and him being not able to help him. Talal managed to snatch away two very important people just like that and there was nothing Malik could do about it. All he could do was to wish he wouldn’t have answered Al Mualim's call this morning and simply stay in bed all day long with Altair. He would give _his_ ring finger to still be lying in bed next to him, being able to brush his fingers through his sandy colored hair and over the little scar parting his left eyebrow ever so delicately. Malik was very well aware of the looks being shot his way. Rebecca finally sat down on her large black leather office chair and slightly turned to her trusted computer as if he would give her the answers she needed - the answer _they_ needed. He had no intentions of keeping all of this to himself any longer. They all knew there was a rat in the nest so why keep quiet about this? Why keep it silent any longer? Rauf's words were still on his mind when he left the table to wander through the lab uncertain of where to turn to. He trusted those three people inside this very laboratory but it was still a risk talking with them about all this.

They were loyal. Well, they _all_ were loyal, that in fact was the problem with this whole situation. They were all so loyal to the creed and their mentor that they wouldn’t ask questions about all those unnecessary little missions during the last months, which hadn't even really paid out to their favors. Malik knew that at least Ezio was skeptical too. He wasn’t stupid - oh god no, he really wasn’t.

" _So_ " Ezio raised his voice once more and Malik could really feel his eyes upon him, measuring him, sizing him up, trying to find out what Malik believed to know. Malik stopped at one of Rebecca's workplaces and stared down on the few glass containers standing around before he finally turned around to meet not only Ezio's eyes but Edward's as well.

" _So_ " He replied with a firm voice and crossed his arms, just like Edward and Ezio, only Rebecca remained quiet, unlike her usual snotty self. She just watched them like an owl.

"You know who the rat is, right?" Ezio continued but lowered his voice. Of course. They couldn’t be too sure they weren't lurked on. There were cameras almost everywhere. Of course, there was a camera in here too (in the case of emergency). Perhaps this wasn’t the place to talk about such things, but on the other hand, chances were good Al Mualim already knew about him knowing or at least suspecting. And then again … shouldn’t they simply focus on getting Altair and Kadar back? Perhaps they should drop the matter with the mentor and hope that Connor found the place already. They could deal with the old man afterward, couldn’t they?

But what if Connor wouldn’t come back with information? What if the old man was the only one who knew about their location? And what if he misjudged him? What if Al Mualim wasn’t the traitor? What if he and Rauf were misled by those details in Talal's documents? The coincidence sure was a big one if Rashid wasn’t the culprit behind all this. It was just as Rauf said. His father Faheem, Altair's father Umar, Abbas' father Ahmad - they had been his scholars and with that Al Mualim - Rashid - had known them right from the start, he himself not older than Malik was now. For just a moment Malik closed his eyes and he tried to focus on his father and his always way too serious face, his scowl cemented into his tanned face and the frown whenever he was thinking too hard about something. What would his father do in this situation? His father trusted Rashid all his life. When Rashid called him to follow him into the US, his father obeyed. This man had done so much good for his family; he protected them from the authorities back then in Syria when he told his father about the dangers awaiting him. He was the one person who looked after him and his baby brother when his father and mother died. He had been sixteen years old and hopelessly alone without family in this foreign country, but with his three-year-old brother and all the responsibility that came with their death. Rashid took them in. He gave them a roof over their heads, he fed them, he dressed them, and he made sure they were going to have a good education. Of course, Malik worked. He worked his ass off in smelly fast food restaurants and coffee shops, but he had been only sixteen and Rashid had been the one who made sure they wouldn’t starve. He saved them. And when Malik left to not join the assassins and took his baby brother with him to marry this girl and then wander off into the war zone his family fled from, he still looked after them. And he gave Malik this new arm and this new chance in life. He took him in with open arms when the army kicked him out after all he had lost. He gave him a home once more, a future and hope for him and his brother and his son.

There had never been a time in which Malik thought he couldn’t trust that man. He was like a father figure. He loved this man like a father, but still, there was this seed growing inside Malik for quite a while now, which made it almost unbearable being near this man.

"Malik?"

But what would his father do? What would he say? _"Malik, we can never know anything. We can only suspect."_ That was what he always said to him and he was right, wasn’t he? He couldn’t know if it was, in fact, Rashid and not one of those three people inside this laboratory or even Altair himself. It was impossible to know, but he suspected it to be Al Mualim. There was this feeling deep down in his guts telling him and his instincts never failed him. They had never failed him. They hadn't even failed him back then when he stormed across a dusty street somewhere in Aleppo to attack some stupid boy because he thought him to be a terrorist and lost his arm. Back then he thought he had failed and that he could never trust his instincts again, but today he knew his instincts hadn't failed him that day. They had drawn him to Altair, not to harm him, not to restrain him, but to protect him. And now his instincts told him that it wasn’t Altair who was the real danger just as he wasn’t the real danger back then.

"It's Rashid." Malik finally said when he opened his eyes again and, of course, he was met with shocked faces (but not as shocked as Malik suspected them of looking at him). Neither of them had the chance to say anything in that matter, for just in this very second the door to the lab flung open. In this brief second Malik braced himself and steeled his body for the upcoming attack and he noticed that he wasn't the only one.

Well, there was no one attacking him for revealing the truth, instead there stood a panting, dirty figure dressed in black clothes with a hood covering his head. Connor smelled. No, he stunk. He stunk like a cesspool. "What the hell is it with you and the fucking canalization, Connor?" Ezio moaned and held his nose shut out of reflex. "Is there something about your family you need to tell us, Edward?!"

It would be funny in other circumstances, but Malik managed only slowly to relax a little bit. No attack and no poisonous gas through the ventilation system. A good sign. Connor panted heavily but he didn’t even deem Ezio's behavior worthy of a reaction from him, instead, he entered the lab fully and closed the door behind him shut (shutting the smell with them inside this room). For at least this one moment, the others seemed already to have forgotten about what Malik only said a second or two before. In fact, he himself had forgotten already. Connor was back and the way he looked left no room for speculations. He had found _something_. And Malik didn’t care what it was or that he probably shouldn’t have told the others about his suspicion towards their mentor.

Connor's black clothes were caked with dirt (and with stuff Malik didn’t want to examine any closer) and his tanned face was streaked with mud and grease. "What did you find?" Malik found himself asking before he could even really think about forming words. He didn’t care how the guy looked like or how he smelled, information was what was important. He needed to know absolutely everything Connor found on his quest and he needed to know it _now_.

Suddenly Connor's ever so stoic face became a tight grimace and Malik's heart sunk once more this day. "I've lost track of them somewhere near the industrial part of the city." Connor began slowly and lowered his gaze ever so slightly to the ground before he lifted his eyes to Malik once more. "But I managed to eliminate most of the factories and warehouses quite easily. I broke it down to three possibilities where Talal and his men could hide. I wanted to come back with this information, but then I saw one of our other targets – Tamir – leaving one of the factories. So I decided to try and sneak in through the canals."

"Which you obviously did." – Rebecca interrupted him, but Malik's look silenced her quickly. That was just like Connor, not giving up until he got the information he wanted. Even if Connor hadn’t seen Tamir, even if he hadn’t found out which of the three remaining buildings the right one was, it would’ve been a great result for them to work with. Perhaps Malik hadn’t need to speak up about his distrust in their mentor if Connor had been faster and perhaps he would’ve spared himself a great deal of trouble with this.

"Which I obviously did." Connor repeated dryly and shrugged his shoulders. "I found an entrance through the sewers underneath the building. We are very lucky people that Boston is still a city with a lot of tunnels in the underground and a large sewer system."

"Did you see Altair or Kadar?" Malik gasped and released with this a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Connor knew where they were. He knew how to get in. He would have his brother back … and Altair. Again Connor made a slight grimace, his full lips curled into a thin line. He looked a little bit older than normally like this – needless to say, that his bulky stature and his broad frame mislead people often enough to believe that he was much older than he actually was. Malik needed to remember that Connor was even younger than Altair. He wasn’t a novice anymore, but he was still a fledgling – a puppy dog.

"I am not sure." Connor then answered before he brushed back his hood and revealed his partially shaved head. "I saw Abbas and Swami dragging someone through a large hall filled with large machines, but I can only guess that it was Altair."

"How was he?"

Connor war silent once more and he noticed how Connor exchanged a look with his grandfather standing near the door (the only one besides Malik who didn’t seem bothered by the smell at all – well he raised this guy, he was probably used to him being dirty and smelly). "Just be out with it, Connor." Malik growled, but Connor cleared his throat.

"Well, it is hard to really say anything about his condition. He couldn’t walk by himself, that's all I can really tell you. He was bloody and he seemed unconscious. I believe they beat him – but that was to be expected after all. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see much of him from my position. I haven’t seen Kadar at all, but I figured they would bring Altair back to wherever they keep him and Kadar."

Malik took a deep breath and tried to focus once more. He reminded himself of the exercise he showed Altair. He tried to focus on breathing and breathing alone. In and out and in and out, deep breaths so the air could fill his lungs entirely until the point it started hurting. He needed to calm down and focus. Yes, Connor was right. It was to be expected that they would at least beat him as a punishment. He had seen Altair after the last _punishment_ he endured and there was still his severed finger lying on the table. He knew it wouldn’t be sunshine and roses for them. This was their daily work. Violence and blood. He was a soldier – still. He had seen tortured people, starved people, people without legs or arms, with burnt faces and backs. He had seen the cruel face of the war. He needed to focus. Just because it was Altair and Kadar shouldn’t make a difference. Yet it did. He couldn’t calm his mind. He just wanted to rush there and grab them. He didn’t want to waste any more time.

"So what are we waiting for, let's go then." Malik found himself saying and it was so utterly against all he normally stood for that Ezio laid his right _paw_ on his left shoulder. It wasn’t like Malik to just run off and threw himself head first into trouble. He _thought_ about his actions first. He – they – couldn't just go and act rashly like this and they couldn’t just act without permission anyhow. They – he – needed to wait for Al Mualim's permission first and it seemed almost ironic to him now. He wouldn’t have thought twice about informing him hours ago. But now things were different. What if Al Mualim would drag out his decision and inform Talal. What if Talal would kill Altair while he sat here waiting for the okay to go? What if his brother was murdered because he was so fucking loyal and obedient?!

"We can't just go and play the hero for some damsel in distress, Malik." Ezio murmured and Malik knew that he was right but still he staggered back a few steps – infuriated by his words.

"Why not?" He growled when he bared his teeth at Ezio, his dark eyes narrowed to slits in his face. "For what do we need the old man's permission? For what do we need the permission of some fucking traitor, Ezio? They cut off Altair's fucking finger for god's sake! No, no – They _ripped_ it off! Look at this, Ezio! Do you think I'll sit here and waste my time any longer when I know where they are? They'll kill him!"

"I don’t think Kadar is in great danger at the moment." Rebecca chimed in, although they all knew that he didn’t speak about Kadar. Kadar might be still a novice – not even a real member of the brotherhood yet – but he knew exactly what to do. He knew how to fight back. He wasn’t that worried about his baby brother when it came to a situation like this. As long as Kadar would be conscious he could defend himself.

"I'm not speaking about my brother, I mean Altair! The guy you marked a traitor, do you remember Ezio?"

"I've never marked him a traitor; he isn’t even a member of the brotherhood, Malik. Don’t be irrational just because you sleep with the guy." With that, Ezio stepped back a little himself as if he was afraid Malik would lunge at him. He was right. Altair wasn't a member of the brotherhood yet and so he held no value for them. For now, Altair was only an innocent and it wasn’t their job to protect the innocents like some superhero or to rescue damsels in distress. Kadar held much more value to the brotherhood and was the much more valuable pawn. Rashid knew that. Talal and his men wouldn’t have taken Kadar too when they just wanted Altair back to torture and kill him for his treason. It took him a moment to realize what Ezio said at last, but when he grasped it he was dumbfounded and Ezio smirked. "Don’t give me that look. I know what a man looks like who just had sex and since you are living alone with your brother and your son, I'll assume Altair was the reason for your happy skip this morning. Don’t get emotionally involved, Malik – I told you that right from the start."

He did. Malik remembered Ezio saying he shouldn’t get too emotionally invested in this homeless guy in the streets just because he pitied him. Well, he clearly lost this battle. Instead of defending himself and his actions, ha snarled at him, but when Connor raised his voice once more all the attention was drawn to him immediately. "So if you guys could calm down a bit I could show you this DVD which I got at the entrance. Someone delivered it only moments ago it seemed. I bet it's from our friend Talal."

Malik barged forward and ripped the DVD from Connor's fingers without even caring for the looks he got with that. It was an ordinary silver DVD in a transparent case. Nothing special, nothing suspicious. Nothing even was written on it… only " _play me"_. "Why didn’t you tell us earlier for fuck's sake, Connor!" The native boy made a face and scrunched his nose as if he only caught up with his own smell, but in reality, he made this grimace because of Malik's rude behavior. The Kenway's weren't thrilled when it came to rude behavior – except Edward.

" _Oh nononono no_. Hands off of this poor innocent DVD, before you break it. This is my territory, so back off boys." Rebecca exclaimed when she jumped from her chair and snatched the DVD from Malik's fingers. She was right, this was her terrain, she was the computer freak - Malik had already problems with his Smartphone at times (especially when his infamous brother had yet again downloaded some stupid app, which Malik wasn’t able to delete). Malik watched her while she sat down at her table again and dragged her _baby_ \- her laptop - closer and shoved the DVD inside the hellish machine.

It took only a moment before she waved at them collectively so they would all gather around the laptop. Of course, Malik was the first to take his place behind Rebecca and to lean over her shoulder - so close in fact that she easily could feel his breath on her neck. If she was bothered by this she didn’t say anything, perhaps because she already knew that it wouldn’t have much of an effect on the man behind her.

The video started fading from black to white centered on a white wall. There was nothing of significance in the background - well, in fact, there was _nothing_ but the white wall, before the camera finally and very slowly shifted its focus towards the left-hand side, before there finally was a person in front of the camera, bound to a chair. Altair's sand-colored hair was caked with blood and the wound responsible for the blood could only be adumbrated. His head hung low, his chin almost rested on his chest - or to be precise on his collarbone - but there was blood dripping from the skin. His chest was naked, for the shirt he wanted to put on before the attack still laid on the ground of his room in Malik's house- the shirt he had stolen from Malik - and on the skin already blossomed some nasty bruises, but for now he didn’t even look almost as horrible as when Rauf brought him to Malik's doorstep. His wrists were bound to the armrests of the wooden chair he sat on and the tender skin there (the very same skin Malik had kissed not even twenty-four hours ago) was red and angry and bloody from the rough ropes. He couldn’t see much of the lower part of his body, only the waistband of his jeans, already blotched with drops of dried blood. For one terrifying moment Malik thought Talal caught the amputation of the finger on tape, but then he noticed Altair's bloody left hand. There was almost not an inch of his pale skin to be seen under the blood. He looked sickly white. There was nothing left of the tan his skin naturally had to it due to his heritage. But he could see the stump where once his ring finger was (the very same ring finger he sucked inside his greedy mouth, not even a whole day ago). The skin was torn and there was still blood dripping (drip-drip-dripping) from the armrest where the bloody stump rested. It was hard to say if Altair was conscious, but his chest rose and fell steadily albeit it shallow.

Malik could only clench his jaw and dug his fingers in the backrest of Rebecca's chair. "Fucking hell." Ezio muttered under his breath and it was not even nearly what lay on the tip of Malik's tongue.

»So, Altair, would you kindly read this sign for the camera?« They couldn’t see any sign at all, but they heard the deep and thickly accentuated voice of the man behind the camera. Malik couldn’t say if it was, in fact, Talal's voice or the voice of one of his handymen - and he didn’t care much either. All he cared for was Altair who slowly shook his head without ever lifting his gaze. He was a stubborn one. And he was proud and he would rather be beaten to death than reducing himself to a plaything for a man like Talal. Malik wanted to scream at him. He wanted to shout that he shouldn’t be such an idiot and just read that damned sign, but it wouldn’t make any difference now anyway.

»What was that?« The voice spoke again and was greeted with silence once more before they could hear the wheezing sound of Altair breathing, only seconds before he found the strength to speak up, but the sound he produced was at first only a gurgling wet sound, which let Malik frozen on the spot. Had they caught off his tongue? Was this the whole point of this fucking video? To taunt them with this? But then there was finally a very small, very quiet »No«, when Altair moved his mouth and when blood slowly dripped down his stubbly chin.

There was a faint sound somewhere near the camera and then the ugly visage of Abbas Sofian shoving himself in view of the camera before he balled his large fist in Altair's short hair and ripped his head back in one swift motion as if he wanted to rip his entire head off. His face didn’t look nearly as bad as Malik had expected. His eyes were still there at least. It looked a lot as if his nose was broken, blood running from his nostrils and a large cut on the back of his nose over his mouth and chin, his teeth were red when Altair bared them while he tried to stifle a painful moan. A fruitless effort. For now, his face wasn’t just a bloody pulp but he knew it wouldn’t stay this way. There was an automatic knife in Abbas' right hand, spear pointed with a long blade like a dagger - The favorite toy of those criminal bastards, hiding in the underground.

Talal didn’t say any last warning and didn’t give Altair a second chance to rethink his actions or choice of behavior before Abbas brought the blade to Altair's mouth. Malik held his breath without even noticing it. He simply couldn’t breathe, not while watching this and having all those gruesome pictures of tortured and disfigured humans back and very prominent in his head. He noticed how Altair's eyes flicked to the blade, but he didn't make much effort to fight against Abbas. He seemed more resigned than anything else like he had already befriended his fate. He didn’t flinch when Abbas cut into the skin right above the right corner of his mouth. He didn’t even scream when the blade dug deeper and ripped through the soft tissue of his flesh and drew a vertical line through his lips while blood kept pouring out of his mouth. He only clenched his jaw and pressed his eyelids tight together; his right hand balled into a fist so that his knuckles turned white and a stifled cry somewhere in the back of his throat. Abbas grinned, when he retreated behind the camera again, pleased with his work and the gruesome wound he left on the boy's mouth.

The lab was silent and Malik knew that the others were staring in horror at the poor boy on the video just like he did. Altair panted, but he didn’t whimper even though his face was sliced open. He was tough like a bull. He would make a great assassin if he would survive this. But this wasn’t what Malik thought about. He thought about the horrible scar this wound would leave behind – similar to Ezio's but longer and perhaps much more prominent. »Will you read it now for your friends or shall Abbas cut off your tongue? You know we could as well drag your little friend in front of the camera and make him read this.« The voice – probably Talal's – asked once more and this time Altair's amber eyes shot up. There was a flicker of panic somewhere in them, but the resistance and anger were bigger. He didn’t look at the camera, but somewhere to its left-hand side – snarling.

Malik could only hope and pray that Altair had been intelligent enough to just follow the order this time, for he had no doubt Abbas would indeed cut off his tongue otherwise. He would enjoy it probably. »Dear Assassins« Altair's voice was hoarse and low when he finally spoke. The text he was reading was English and his thick Arabic accent was way more prominent than Talal's. »Your creed forbids you to harm innocents and this is your chance to follow the creed's word. Although I am flattered by your attention, I would rather part ways with the brotherhood and not be followed by you and your kin. I am no violent or cruel man. I only tried to help those poor people when they arrived in this country, but I am willing to forgive the brotherhood for their misconception about me and my goals. I am willing to let my guests go, as soon as I receive another pawn in exchange – a sign of our truce. I will not harm my guests if the brotherhood is willing to make terms with me. But the longer it takes for the brotherhood to accept my kind offer the more parts of this poor man will lose connection to his body.«

"Bullshit." Edward hissed agitated. "As if he would stay to his word and not harm them any further. He will kill them no matter what. We should act now and not listen to this crap."

"Shush" Rebecca didn’t even bother to look at the blonde haired Kenway when Altair continued slowly. His voice sounded strained like every single word demanded all the energy that was left inside him.

»You have time to decide whether you want to accept my offer and give me what I demand until tomorrow afternoon. Don’t worry about the means of communication. I will send you a messenger to receive your answer.«

The video ended just like this when someone simply stopped the recording after Altair finished the last sentence, but his words still hung in the air, when the viewer closed itself. "Yeah well, not gonna happen, lad." Edward murmured once more when he stepped back from the table and crossed the room with long steps. He had no goal, he just wanted to move and distract his brain like that. Malik couldn’t distract himself. He hated vague demands like this one. Talal hadn’t said what he really wanted. He hadn’t said he wanted money or something of worth, only a pawn, but what pawn? What could he possibly want to ensure his safety until he probably left Boston and leave his businesses behind? He would start something new somewhere else and the assassins would hunt him down once more to get rid of this bug – he knew that. Talal wasn’t stupid, he knew the assassins wouldn’t let him alone after Kadar and Altair were safe at last. What did he want?

"Whatever he wants from us" Ezio then said when he sat down on the edge of Rebecca's desk and crossed his arms and legs. "It is something that is worth a) the risk and b) is something that really ensured his safe leaving from Boston _and_ that we won't follow or hunt him after this whole ordeal. What could he want from us?"

"The question is: what do the _Templars_ want." Connor corrected the older Italian man with a slight frown when he leaned with his back against a wall behind Rebecca's desk. "Don’t forget, Talal might not wear the cross, but he is still one of them. The Templars want what they always want, _power_. So what do we possess that could ensure him the power he wants? Or is it really money he wants? Information? Weapons?"

And then it struck Malik like a lightbulb in his head was suddenly switched on. "He wants the apple." He sighed and ruffled through his short black hair. It was already a mess, so what did it matter anyway.

"What apple?" Ezio then asked, but at least Rebecca seemed to understand when she leaned back in her chair with a small squeak.

"The apple isn’t here. Al Mualim sent it to our brothers in New York."

"Well, at least he told you that, right?" Malik groaned. This freaking thing. He had hated it as soon as he first touched it back in Washington when the old man sent him there to receive the thing before the Templars could get it into their greedy hands.

"Not that again. What makes you so sure that Al Mualim is the rat for god's sake? And why should he make business with Talal but sent the one thing Talal could possibly want away so he couldn't get it – well _if_ he sent the apple away." Rebecca asked and turned her chair around so she had a better look at Malik who was still standing frozen to the spot.

"I don’t know." He really had no clue. All he knew was that Al Mualim had something to do with all of this. "Perhaps he has some kind of agenda against Altair. Perhaps he never had the intention to give them Templars the apple but to get rid of Altair this way. I just know that he stands behind all this."

"This makes absolutely no sense Malik. It was him who decided we need to stop Talal, right? Why should he sabotage all this?"

"Perhaps he wants the apple to himself?" Connor said quietly. "Perhaps he uses Talal for his cause. Perhaps he wants that we get the apple back from our brothers in New York and give it to Talal, so he can get it from him."

"But he already had it. Why should he make such a fuss about all this? All he needs to do is message New York and get it back."

"But then we all would know that he has the thing. What if he steals the apple from Talal and let it look like someone run off with it? Perhaps even Altair. Perhaps he plans on letting the apple _vanish_."

"I think this is bullocks." Ezio moaned and rubbed over his face. "What is this apple anyway?"

"The apple" Rebecca began slowly. "Is just something like a simple flash drive and basically nothing special. It is called apple because of its shape and Rashid ordered Malik a few months ago – before the whole Talal thing started – to get it from one of our informants in the government before the Templars got wind of it. We don’t know what data _the apple_ really contains. I guess Rashid knows, but he hadn’t told any of us. I saw the thing only briefly and wasn’t able to hack into it. The data on it is highly secured and that was the reason why he sent it to New York so our hackers there could try and have a look into the files that was at least what he told me."

"Well, he told me that the information on this thing is so explosive, that nobody who won't know the key to get to it should see it. That was the reason why he sent it to New York so the others would lock the thing away and secure its safety. He said the government ordered him to do so until they would contact us to give it back." Connor said.

"So it could be possible, that Rashid either knows the key now and wants to get to the data by himself or he didn’t want anyone other than himself to have it because the information has something to do with his plans." Malik then added and at least Connor nodded in agreement, while Rebecca shrugged her shoulders and Edward kept his silence.

"But what makes you so sure he has something to do with all this?" Ezio sighed. His eyes were glued to Malik's face and there was something almost desperate about the way he looked at him as if the possibility of the betrayal of their mentor would tear him apart. "He is our mentor, don’t forget this Malik. Don’t forget the things he had done for you and your family. Why don’t you trust him anymore?"

And with a small sigh, Malik told them what Rauf told him. He told him about Umar Ibn-La'Ahad and Ahmad Sofian. He told him about Umar's death and Ahmad's suicide, about their sons, Abbas and Altair and about the list Rauf found in Talal's office. "Perhaps Altair is only a scapegoat for him. Perhaps he has unfinished business of sorts with him – or more likely with his father. I think it is a coincidence that Abbas is one of Talal's handymen – it's simply not possible that even this was planned from the start – but I think Abbas is eager to help Rashid when he, therefore, gets his revenge on Altair. We just saw how thrilled he was when it came to torturing him and I guess it was him who ripped his finger off." He probably hadn’t even aimed for the finger but had joy in cutting and ripping and bringing pain to the boy.

"But if what you propose is true" Ezio began talking once more. He still sat on Rebecca's desk, but at least he didn’t look as adamant as before. "Then why are we still alive? I mean, this place is full of cameras and microphones, don’t you think we would be gunned down by now if he already knows about us plotting in here?"

"Do we plot?" Edward snickered.

"He isn’t here." Connor then answered. "He left this afternoon to attend some business he didn’t want to talk about."

"And I think we know what this business is." Malik couldn’t help but clench his jaw. What if Al Mualim was at Talal's hiding spot right now? Perhaps he even found his pleasure in seeing Altair like this. Whatever Umar did to gain Rashid's disdain.

"If you ask me, it isn’t even all that important to know _if_ Malik is right or not." Rebecca then said and finally got up from her chair. "Connor already knows where those rats are hiding, right? I don’t think we really need to think about getting the apple. Connor and I will make a plan how you guys will get in. We don’t know yet how many men there really are, so I propose you'll gather Aveline and perhaps Arno, he should still be here, right? I'll make sure you'll get the necessary equipment."

Finally, there was something similar to hope inside Malik's chest and his eyes shifted towards the digital clock that hung above the door. It was not even yet 8 PM and they would have the whole night to act if necessary. "How long do you think you need for this?"

Rebecca made a face when she looked at her companion in plotting – Connor – and then ruffled through her short black hair with her left (gloved) hand. "Well, give me two, at most three hours. I need to advance your security levels so you have access to the good stuff in the armory and to the cars, other than this I need to find secure frequencies for the communication we will use – after all we can't risk the boss to notice _if_ he is there. I will also contact the paramedics; I think it would be best if they would accompany the mission. But first and foremost Connor needs to take a shower."

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Kadar had no clue how much time passed since these men came to take Altair with them, but it seemed like an eternity now to the teen. He didn’t know what had happened to Altair, but he could imagine that it wasn’t something pleasant. The room wasn’t as dark as before, thanks to those two idiots leaving the light on, but the loud unpleasant neon light didn’t make it any better. He could only see the damp walls better and the mold that slowly crept from the ground to the ceiling. There was a large wet spot on the ceiling almost exactly centered in the middle, which was a little bit unusual, after all the ceiling seemed to be made of concrete just like the ground. Well, perhaps this building they were in was already a ruin and could break down on them at any given minute now.

The room was completely empty with exception of an old rusty bucket in one corner thankfully far, far away from Kadar. The purpose of said bucket was quite obvious to him but even if the bucket itself hadn’t told him about its intended purpose the stench of urine and shit did. He could only hope they would escape or be freed soon enough so that they wouldn’t have to use this hideous thing. He hadn’t been able to loosen the ropes around his wrists no matter how hard he tried, but there really was nothing which allowed him to tear them or at least loosen them just enough to slip his hands free. He was sure he would manage to free himself as soon as Altair would be back.

First, there was only the small beeping outside the room once again and then the door opened with a small squeaking sound. Kadar's head swung around, but he got only a small glimpse of the grinning faces of the two men that dragged Altair outside before and now thrust the young man into their shared cell before they closed the door once again with a bang. Altair slumped to the ground like a wet sack, his hands bound behind his back, with his face resting on the cold concrete floor. Kadar saw the blood on his hand and his face, he noticed in horror the missing of his left ring finger and the torn skin left behind. He felt sick when Altair let himself slump down to his side to rest and gasp for breath. He looked awful. His face was covered in blood, his nose was seemingly broken, and his mouth sliced open and torn, bruises blossoming around his eyes, a large cut on his left cheekbone and the back of his nose. His whole naked chest was bruised – black and blue and angry red.

He didn’t look like he could even walk by himself in the state he was in right now. There was no way Kadar would manage to escape this place with Altair as long as he was in this condition. That didn’t make it exactly any easier. His eyes were open, but only half lidded and he seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. The wound on the back of his head looked gruesome, perhaps he had a concussion; perhaps even his skull was fractured. He needed medical help especially now with the loss of his finger and the risk of infection inside this dirty, wet cellar.

They needed to get out. Now.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_"What are you doing in here, Umar?" Faheem growled when he entered the attic and left the ladder behind at the trapdoor. He did not need to see his best friend sitting behind some of the old stuff that was piled up in the tower, he simply_ knew _he was here. However, he did not know why he was hiding. Umar did not answer and Faheem had no other choice than to sigh deeply and step farther into the room. It was not exactly dark, but since neither he nor his friend had bothered to turn on the old light bulb hanging from the ceiling it was not exactly bright either. There was only the bit of sunlight, which shone through the small round windows on each side of the tower._

_Faheem's eyes were remarkably good, so he did not really need much light to find his way. Al Mualim often said he would remind him of a hawk towering over Masyaf and keeping an eye on everything. He circled around old furniture and passed ancient paintings without nudging his foot against them or making much noise, just enough noise in fact so his friend would know he was still here. The attic was deadly silent, but Faheem still knew that he was here and now, when he rounded a wooden pillar, he could see him, hidden behind an old bookshelf and surrounded by piled up dusty books._

_Umar had his eyes closed and one of the seemingly ancient books in his lap, while he sat there cross-legged on the dust covered floorboards. His hair had grown a lot lately and desperately needed a cut and he was wearing his grey uniform just as Faheem did - like all the novices were told to. They should not be up here but down in their history class with the other novices. Umar always skipped the history lessons if he could. And it was always Faheem who would go search for his best friend – and he would always know where to find him. It was not as if Umar would not have interest in history itself or the history of the brotherhood, he simply had no interest in listening to some old man in a way too warm and stuffy classroom._

_"Umar." He mumbled once more before he crouched down in front of him and grabbed his left shoulder to shake him awake. Oh, he knew perfectly well that his friend was not asleep at all. He knew what Umar looked like when he was asleep. They had grown up together; they had shared a room together since they were eleven years old and novices of the brotherhood. And he knew that Umar often tried to make it look like he did not snore when he slept. He would always deny that he snored, but he did and the fact that he now did not was proof for him enough. "Come on, Rashid will rip our heads off when we are late again."_

_But suddenly, when he shook him again Umar's right hand shot up, grabbed his wrist, and pulled Faheem against his body. He did not even blink so much when he felt his best friend's lips on his own. It was not new anymore and it definitely did not feel alien to him anymore, but he grinned against Umar's lips and pinched his nose with his left hand. When Umar gasped for breath, he freed himself from his kiss. "Moron, get your lazy ass up." Faheem chuckled but then slumped down on his ass himself._

_He liked the attic. No._ They _liked the attic. Years ago, when they were still little dumb kids of eleven years, they discovered this palace of dust and old junk and since then this was their secret hiding spot. They came here to skip lessons - even though it was mainly Umar who skipped lessons and more often Faheem to come here and get his best friend down again. This was no secret love nest and they were no lovers. They were friends. No more, no less. They were brothers. It was the truth that they shared their first kisses with each other, but not so much out of sexual interest for each other, but more out of practice reasons and the lack of girls in Masyaf. Of course, there were girls in Masyaf, but not nearly as many as boys were and the few living up here were smart enough to stay away from boys like them. They needed to practice if they did not want to make a fool out of themselves in the future when they would share kisses with a girl for the first time. Rashid always said that practice was the most essential part of training, so they practiced. Mainly up here._

_"I don’t want to." Umar moaned and stifled a yawn and Faheem knew he would not get his friend to move even an inch towards the attic door, so he made himself more comfortable on the ground. "I dreamed again."_

_"We all dream Umar, that's what our brain does when we sleep." Faheem groaned and rolled his eyes, but Umar kicked him against the left knee and grinned a little._

_"But I always dream the same thing!" He exclaimed._

_"And you still don’t want to talk about, am I right?" - Because it was like this for months now. It began five months ago that Umar woke up with a scream in their room for the first time drenched in sweat and his face as pale as if he had seen a ghost. When Faheem asked him about his nightmare, he only stuttered that it had not been a nightmare but a dream with a bad end. He never told him what this dream had been about but the dream reappeared since then every now and again, as if it wanted to remind Umar on it when he started to forget. Umar seemed adamant that this dream was foreshadowing the future and Faheem only rarely saw his best friend like this. In a few weeks, Faheem would turn eighteen and so was Umar. They would be adults. They would be old enough to proof themselves as valuable members of the brotherhood. Then there was no time for stuff like this or dreams like this. Umar nodded._

_"I don’t know." He then sighed. "I don’t think I should talk about it."_

_"Then don’t do it." He could not force him. He tried and he never succeeded. "Anyway. While you dreamt stupid stuff about the future again I managed to get this new girl to speak with me." Faheem then grinned and only for a small moment, the smile on Umar's lips faltered a little before he forced his face again to do as he pleased._

_"Yeah … thought so." Umar replied and his gaze darted towards the small window nearby as if he could see something out there high above the land. When Faheem followed his eyes, he could see a large bird only for a second that flew high into the skies._

_"Was that an eagle?" Faheem yelped and jumped to his feet only to run towards the window and push his head outside. "Wow! Dad said the eagles left Masyaf centuries ago! Do you think they will come back?" When he turned his head to his friend, Umar was already at the attic door. He had not heard him move, but this time he did not smile, only nodded and then started to climb the ladder._

_"Yes. I think they are coming back home."_

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When Altaїr woke up again the smell was unbearable. It stunk like urine, shit, sweat, vomit, and decay. He was back in the container again. He was back on the ship. He could feel the rocking of the waves beneath him. He could feel the bodies pressing against his own and heard the whimpers and the sobbing in the darkness all around him. He heard the laughter of the crew in the cabin above his head. He heard the prayers of the men beside him, this low rumbling of those deep voices. Altair could not breathe. Every time he tried to gasp for breath, the hot air was just wheezing through his lungs and burnt the structure of the tender organ. A body bumped against his own and he knew it must be the woman he saw last back then. Or was he still there? Were all this - the year he spent as Talal's slave, Malik and the brotherhood - only a dream? A foreshadowing of the events that could happen but never would because he was destined to die in here?

He was not even afraid this time for he knew death would be so much better than the things that were bound to happen if he lived. It was better than being beaten, bullied, and humiliated every fucking day. When he would open his eyes he would see the haggard and dirty faces of his fellow slaves all around him, he was sure of that. He would see the rotting corpses of the children in the corner on the container with gray, green, blue, and black skin, open mouths and excrements sticking to their bodies. He did not want to open his eyes. He did not need to see. "Altair." The prayers around him were just a dull soft murmur and he could not really understand the words, but it somewhat soothed him. Would his life be another if he only would have been more religious like the men and women around him? Well, it had not really helped them, but would he at least be allowed to hope to go to paradise or something like this, if he would have been raised like a Muslim should be raised?

Was it already too late to try to believe in Allah? "Altair! Wake up!" Again, a body bumped against his, this time a little heavier - and again! " _Altair!_ " There was a silent voice hissing his name. "Come on, _please_! Malik kills me if you die!" He really wished his father would have raised him as a Muslim and in the Islamic beliefs, because then he could at least try to hope for something better in the afterlife. A sharp pain let him finally pry open his eyes.

There was light flooding the void around him, bright, loud light that burned in his eyes and made him blink rapidly to get his poor eyes used to the violation. It stank, but not as much as he thought. He was not in the container and he was not surrounded by strangers and death. He was alone except for the young teenage boy beside him – or rather on top of him. It took him a long and agonizing moment to fully understand and feel his surroundings- the cold, hard concrete of the ground he was lying on just clothed in a pair of jeans, which did not even belong to him. He felt the dull but throbbing pain in the back of his head and remembered the beatings he got before. Every time he tried to breathe, it hurt so much he just wanted to roll to his side and curl his body into a tight ball. He remembered the baseball bat in Swami's large hands in Talal's office and he remembered the knife, the sharp pain, and the shock that followed soon after the loud _bang!_ When the blade hit the tabletop.

He blinked again, when he saw the little black spots dancing on the edges of his vision and when he opened his eyes once more Kadar's face was over his. His blue eyes were huge and full of distress and worry, but at least he did not seem hurt. There was a little blood on his face and his nose looked like it was broken, but other than this he seemed okay.

"Thank god I thought you would try and die on me." The teenager groaned and disappeared from his vision to sit back on his heels again. Altair could feel the ropes still – or rather again – digging into his torn and angry skin and he missed the strength he needed to push himself up to sit – other than this he knew his ribs must've at least been bruised and every little movement of his upper body would hurt and that he could lose conscience easily once again with torturing his own body in such a way. For now, he had no clue how long he had been knocked out, but every minute he was here was one to many. They needed to escape. No, Kadar needed to escape. He should not be here. Altair remembered only vaguely, what he was forced to read when Talal had set him up in front of the camera, but he didn’t know if the assassins had already seen the tape or even if they already knew what it was Talal wanted from them. He did not care much either. He did not care what this man wanted of the assassins, but he wanted to spit in his soup once more. Whatever he wanted, he should not get it. They should get out before the assassins could make a deal with him, whatever this deal was.

"Bad weed grow tall." He moaned but only turned his head to the side and enjoyed the cooling sensation on his inflamed skin. Even speaking hurt. Of course, it hurt. His face was cut open. He felt the cut through his lips with every movement of his mouth and he was almost glad that he did not see what it looked like. It was already enough to remember the feeling of the blade being dragged through the flesh and skin until he almost felt the tip of the blade against his teeth.

"We need to get out of here." Kadar said and Altair heard movement around him. He still felt dizzy, his vision still was blurred, and the sounds echoing around him still were dull. His fingers felt numb and perhaps it was better this way. As long as the ropes would stop the blood flow, he would not feel the pain of the lost finger. Perhaps this was not even all they cut off. He had no clue what had happened as soon as he lost conscience. Perhaps he was now missing much more than just one finger. Perhaps he did not want to know. "Help me!" Kadar groaned and when Altair blinked, again he was next to him, sitting on the ground, his back turned towards him. He could see his bruised wrists and the thick ropes binding them together. His skin was already bloody, angry, and red where the rope cut into the flesh. "Can you try and lose them a little for me?"

Altair moaned. His own wrists were still bound behind his back – maybe this was the reason why he could not feel them after he was lying on them for so long. He felt like a turtle lying on its back and desperately struggling to get back to its feet again. "I'll try..." He then moaned and tried to move his mouth as little as possible with that, even though his words were nothing more than a low mumbling sound, before he slowly turned to his side, away from Kadar. It was a small relief when he took the weight from his poor hands, but the relief only lasted for a second before he was greeted with pain and the agonizing tickling that came back to his limbs again. He really wanted to scream or at least whimper, but he did not. There was no time for being a sissy. There was no time for enjoying his agony and melting into a puddle of pain and misery. He needed to get going, he needed to get Kadar out of here, and he needed to stop the assassins before they could do something stupid. And for only one small moment, he thought about Malik. Surely, he would see the tape. Surely, he would see his disgrace in front of that camera. Surely, he would do everything in his power to get Talal's ass or at least get them free – or at least his brother. He did not dare to hope that he was important enough to Malik or any other person to concentrate on saving him. He would need to do this alone, as he always did.

But at least he could try to bring Kadar back home - that was all he could do for Malik after he lost his arm because of him. It was nearly impossible to force his fingers to move after he tried and succeeded in reaching for Kadar's wrists. He turned his head just enough so he could try to glance over his shoulder so he would see what he did, but even this hurt. His fingers screamed in pain when he finally succeeded in telling them what to do, but he could not really move his left hand and every time he did a new wave of agony flooded through his entire being. Still his slender fingers grabbed and pulled and ripped as good as he could on Kadar's bindings and had no clue at all, if he did anything good with that. He could neither see nor feel really anything and his groping on the ropes was nothing more than a dull feeling, a scraping sensation through cotton or thick wool. His fingers did not belong to him any longer.

"It doesn’t work." He hissed after a while, after what felt like an eternity for him and probably even longer for Kadar. "Just go on!" Kadar hissed and Altair noticed how he tried to wiggle his hands a little bit while Altair still tried to free him and then he felt how the ropes finally slackened a bit before he felt and saw how Kadar took his wrists from him and managed to wiggle his hands free. "Yes!" He grinned when his ropes fell to the ground. "They didn't make a really good job these assholes!" Kadar turned and rubbed his wrists but he did not waste any second to loosen Altair's bonds. Finally, he felt the blood flooding back into his hands and the tickling sensation was nearly unbearable, yet Altair managed to sit up with a small pained moan.

"What now?" He sighed. "What's your plan? We are still locked inside this fucking room." He could not see a lock on the door or even a door handle. Probably the door was locked, closed and open via an electronically device and as long as no one would come to get them or punish them they would not get out. Kadar looked pale in the loud neon light when he finally slumped down beside him once more and Altair simply rested his back against the cold wall. "We can't wait until Talal gets what he wants." He sighed.

"Malik will come and get us." Kadar then said with a low hum and ruffled though his hair. At least there were no cameras in the room and with that, no alarmed Swami or Abbas or whoever else worked for Talal storming inside the room to tie them up once more. Altair knew that Kadar was right. Malik might be a rational guy, but he was a brother as well - a man who already lost his parents, his wife and a limb and who won't lose his own remaining family with Kadar. He would come to get them, but they did not know when this would be. "As soon as he knows where to find us he will be here."

Altair nodded, but kept his silence for he knew he could be dead until then. No, he _would_ be dead as soon as Malik would come to their rescue. They would have fun to tear him apart limb by limb by limb to send them to the assassins and as soon as he would be dead, they would go on with Kadar. They would break him, torture him, spit on him and piss on him just as they did with him. He could not let this happen. Kadar was too young, too innocent to let something like this happen to him. "We can't wait until then." He murmured and now it was Kadar who nodded.

"I know. You will not survive this. Look at you." He did not need to look at himself, He already knew he looked like shit and probably smelled like shit too. "Your finger looks horrible." And that it did. Altaїr avoided the sight of his finger - or rather, the gap between his middle and pinky finger - but his left hand felt hot and inflamed and he knew it probably was infected. He could lose his hand for all he knew. If the infection would spread, he could lose his fucking hand - or even his arm. Well at least Malik and he would be even then.

"We will get out, don’t worry."

"You have a plan?" Kadar sighed and bumped the back of his head against the wall in their backs. Altair nodded just a little so his head would not hurt as much again.

"Yes."

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It was silent inside the dark van and Malik only concentrated his sole being on the noise of the engine and the quiet vibrating of the road under the wheels of the car. They managed to leave the building without drawing any suspicion, but this did not calm him really all that much. If they would be seen as traitors by the others, they would pay the price for it, even though Ezio had tried to soothe his mind about this. Malik wanted to go alone originally. He wanted to raid this factory and kick Talal's ass and get Altair and Kadar out of there alone, but it was Ezio who told him again and again and again how stupid such kamikaze-Rambo-behavior was. He knew how stupid this was, still he just wanted to act and don’t wait and risk any more damage to either Kadar or Altair.

And now that they came nearer and nearer towards their destination he needed to calm down and soothe his mind. He was an assassin. He needed to remember that he was first of all an assassin. His target was Talal and his handymen for the crimes they committed after they - the assassins - watched those men for months now. He was not there to rescue some innocents, no savior of damsels in distress. It was important for him to give Talal what he deserved, a quick execution like he was trained to, even though he felt naked without his sniper. He much rather killed from a distance than from such close proximity as he needed to do tonight. He did not like to engage in physical confrontation, but he probably would not be able to avoid this tonight. He needed to execute this job and then - and only then - he could go on and safe the innocents which were kept prisoners there. Not only his brother and Altair, but also all of those poor souls inside the factory.

He tried to focus and to blend anything else out. He tried to remember how he had done it until now no matter the mission. He tried to remember his days in Syria, his days as a soldier. He needed to be professional. _Focus. You need to focus. Every little mistake can kill them. Focus._

The car stopped.

"Well, here we are boys, home sweet home." Rebecca chirped from the passenger's seat when she turned around while next to her Ezio unfastened his seatbelt behind the steering wheel. The large windows of the old black van were tinted black, but still Malik could see the area they arrived at through the darkened glass. The van was big enough to fit at least six people inside and while Rebecca and Ezio occupied the front of the vehicle Malik sat next to Arno on one of the two large benches on the left-hand side of the car. Next to Arno sat Aveline, a dashing young woman, just as beautiful as intelligent and just as murderous. Connor was the only one of them sitting on the opposite bench with crossed arms and a calm face. Sometimes he looked like he was meditating when Malik caught him like this, and he probably really was meditating. Connor was one of their very best. He was always focused, always concentrated, and always calm and collected. Connor was the one to count on no matter what and Malik was sure he was thinking about the plan again, for he would lead the rest of them through the sewer system and the underground tunnels into the factory. Malik did not like to work in groups, for he (just as every one of them) was used to working alone. Being in a group only raised the risk of being detected. He could not risk being detected. Not tonight. Not under those circumstances. Not if Kadar's life depended on him being careful and discreet.

"The paramedics will wait with me here in this location." Rebecca then continued when Aveline stood up from the bench and grabbed her weapons, which lay underneath the bench. She was a good shot; Malik knew that because he trained her, but she still had many flaws in her technique and on a mission like this one, she would better be using a knife. He watched her checking her gun and the rest of her equipment before she put on her earpiece and pulled the black hood over her head. After a small moment the others follower her example only Malik remained frozen on the spot no matter how eager he had been before to just storm in and grab his brother and his … Altair. Whatever he was to him now. He was his future comrade and with that his friend and future brother in arms. That was it. "So just try and don’t get hurt too badly, alright?"

Arno - the tall brunette Frenchman - opened the door of the van but let Aveline get out first. The woman hopped out of the back of the van and her feet crunched on the pebbles on the ground. "Is the communication system safe?" Malik then finally asked Rebecca and the woman smiled a little at him when he raised his gaze to her. "Don’t worry about that, Mal. Just go. Edward takes care of everything inside the headquarter and he also informed Bill, so he will have an eye on Tazim." Malik nodded and then he got up from his spot on the bench after Connor and Arno exited the van with their weapons attached and their hoods pulled up. He pushed the earpiece into his ear, controlled his gun, secured it in its holster, before he checked the knife on his left wrist, and got out of the van to find himself in a rather deserted area.

The night hung low and deep black above them and swallowed them whole covered in their black clothes. Connor's tips lead them straight into a wasteland outside the confinements of the close nit structure of the town of Boston. There was nothing around, only the entrance to the sewer system a little down the slope they were standing on in a deserted riverbank. They took off down the slope one after another the last being Malik who looked back to the black van and the second one parking close to the one Rebecca would stay and wait in, having her eyes on the monitors. Part of the equipment was not only a bulletproof west and not only the earpiece connecting them all together, but also a GPS to keep track of them on the small map on Becks' Laptop.

It was only natural that Connor was the first to enter the tunnels underneath Boston to lead the group through the mazelike sewer system after he had been here before and not only knew the outlet but also where they needed to get out of the sewers again. For Malik it was hard to concentrate, even when he dived into the darkness of the sewers and followed his comrades, Ezio close to his side as if the older male felt his distress. Well he most probably did. Their flashlights were the only light source they had and they needed to be careful with using them, turning them off every now and then when they reached another duct to not draw any attention towards them. Malik listened to the little noises inside the sewers, to the little dripping sound and to the rats squirreling here and there in the darkness. The smell was awful, but neither of them really said anything about it and at least Connor did not care at all. He was used to something like this and they could consider themselves lucky he was.

"This reminds me of the beginning of my training in Paris a few years ago." Arno said at some point when they were already so deep in the tunnel system underneath Boston that Malik couldn’t see the exit anymore but still far enough away from their destination. "My teacher, Bellec, always used to shoo me through the sewers and catacombs underneath Paris just to tease me with tedious little jobs. I bet he laughed his ass off outside while I had to crawl through dirt and excrements." Arno's accent was thick and dripped with every syllable from his tongue, but his voice was pleasant to the ear, although Malik was sure, he thickened his accent on purpose because women liked it – Ezio was the very same way when a woman as around – and now Aveline seemed to be his object of desire.

Malik himself didn’t care so much for the conversation which grew from this point between Aveline, Arno and Connor (even though Connor just rarely engaged in speaking during this conversation and only made small grunting noises or little _ah's_ and _mhm's_ in agreement or disagreement every now and then) and tried to listen to the sewers instead. He walked beside Ezio as silent as he could manage, but after a while, the ground became slippery and tricky and his boots produced nasty smacking sounds with every step he took. The darkness of the sewers concealed them pretty good and the rays of light of their flashlights bounced from wet and slick walls around them. They turned left, then right, then again left and moved their way crisscrossing through dirt and wastewater and after a little while, the conversation finally stopped, after Connor raised his left hand in silence.

"We're close." The tall half-native man explained his gesture when he turned off his flashlight. The others, except Malik followed his example and Connor turned to him. "The first duct is about 32 feet ahead, the second about 50 feet to the left."

Malik rolled his shoulders. He could not help it and Ezio often made fun of him because of this habit and said this was his way of snapping his fingers. Perhaps he was right about it. "Aveline are you sure you can go by yourself?" Arno asked, but the woman flashed him a disbelieving look before she smiled at him with full teeth (baring her teeth at his impertinent question). With a swift motion, she extended the hidden blade, stuck to her left wrist as if she wanted to control the mechanism. It was a warning and Arno took a step back. "Don’t worry, Arno. I am a big girl; I can take care of myself."

Ezio did not grin and he did not laugh either, but Malik knew he wanted to. "Okay then." The Italian man said straightening his spine. "Just keep in mind that we still don’t know the exact location where Kadar and Altair are kept. Aveline, you are the smallest and lightest one so you will use the duct into the production area. Try to be silent and avoid being seen. We know there is an office upstairs to oversee the factory. Try to free as many people as possible that are kept there, but wait for the riot until we'll give you the signal."

Aveline nodded courtly. She would never mistrust Ezio's decision when it came to tactic and strategy. He was the oldest of their group now and he knew exactly what needed to be done. "We don’t know where Talal and his men are hiding. The chances are good that they are in fact in this overseer's office on top of the staircase. Arno and Connor, you will take the longest route through the sewers and clear the top and ground floor offices. If anything happens, report and I will aid you. Malik and I will take the route which leads to the basement area."

 _And hopefully_ , Malik thought, _hopefully it's over with that_. Hopefully they would be there. Hopefully they could just grab them and get them out through the sewers just as planned even though some part of him wanted to see Abbas suffer for what he had done. And he would. He would have his way with Abbas and Talal and this other fucking guy and only then, he would be satisfied. They deserved being punished for intruding his home and harming his baby brother and his … Altair.

"Bien." Arno said and after a small moment in silence, they parted ways. None of them knew what they really would encounter and Malik didn’t like it. The times when the assassins stumbled through their missions and needed to run away over rooftops in bright daylight were long gone. They should know exactly what they were in for tonight. They should know every name of every person in the factory; they should know every weakness of Talal and his men. They should have maps of the entire factory and every hidden corner, but they didn’t. They needed to stumble and poke their fingers into the unknown. He hated this and a small voice inside his head told him he should hold his comrades back, to go alone. After all this was his problem, wasn’t it? It was his brother and his … well it was Altair. The dude he scratched off the street to give him food and shelter. He was his responsibility. He shouldn’t endanger his comrades, but as if Ezio once more knew what he was thinking, he just pulled at his right arm to get him moving, while Aveline, Arno and Connor were already swallowed by thick heavy darkness. They strode on for moments without talking and when Malik could see the faint light of the exit, he turned off his flashlight.

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"I am not so sure this will work, Altair…" Kadar said when he finally moved to the door of their shared cell, but Altair only grunted and shrugged his shoulders. Probably he was right. Their plan wasn’t as ingenious as he liked it to be, but it was all he managed to come up with for now in this rather suboptimal situation of theirs. This plan was now all they had for sparking their hopes of getting out of here alive and without endangering Malik or the brotherhood.

Altair didn’t care that much for the assassin's brotherhood as he cared for Malik's safety and for all he knew about the ex-soldier and assassin Malik wouldn’t waste any second to throw himself into a pit of needles or daggers to help his baby brother.

The plan was simple and rather stupid to be honest, but Altair could only set his hopes into Swami's or Abbas's (which one ever would react to them) stupidity, when he sprawled himself out on the floor. He faced the door lying on his side, his hands behind his back so no intruder would see that they weren't bound together anymore right away. They didn’t know if Swami or Abbas were near enough to hear them, but chances were good that at least one of these idiots or at least some other poor fool working for Talal would be set up near their cell to keep an eye on them. If not the only thing they would waste was their energy. A small price to pay for the possibility of freedom. "Trust me." Altair then huffed and normally he would've laughed about those words coming out of his mouth. Trust was the last thing any of them two could afford. He had learnt it the hard way that you can't trust anyone in your life. "It will work." There really wasn’t much to lose for them. Sure, if they would fail and be outnumbered they would be punished, but he doubted that they would kill them - at least not them both. They would keep Kadar alive for he was the bigger pressure point for Malik. He … Well. He was just some homeless dude. He was just some loser wasting his life. He was worth nothing, not Malik's worry or really any effort that would go along with rescuing him.

Kadar grunted some kind of response, but Altair really didn’t care. He simply closed his eyes and let his mouth hang open ever so slightly just so a little spit mixed with blood from his wound, which would rip open again and again and again every time he spoke, would drip to the floor. And with that the show started and all Altair could do was to hope Kadar would be strong and fast enough to make it work. Well … at least he was stronger and faster than Altair could possibly be right now. He was a fucking train wreck and that was the ugly truth. He couldn’t keep his back straight, he couldn’t even walk on his own two legs. He was weak, perhaps too weak to ever become a part of the brotherhood - or Malik's life.

It began with Kadar's scream and him banging on the door as loud as he could. "HELP!" Kadar screamed on top of his lungs and his voice and the banging of his fists against the metal echoed from the naked walls all around them. "HELP! ANYBODY! _PLEASE_ HELP!"

The banging and shouting continued sheer endless minutes – an eternity for all Altair could say while he kept his position down on the ground and concentrated on the sounds all around him. First there was no sound at all, only silence between the noise Kadar produced, but then heavy footsteps far away which only grew louder and louder and louder and harder the nearer they got. Then there was the beeping sound outside their door again and he could hear a voice cursing and cussing under a dark growl, before the door opened. Altair did his best to hold his breath and his eyes closed while the person outside the door shoved the door open and Kadar back (judging by the noise, the small shuffling of naked feet which could only be Kadar's feet and the sound of the metal door being dragged over the ground) inside the room.

"What is your fucking problem, kid?" The man grunted with a thick Arabic accent, very much like his own when he was forced to speak in English, his voice was a deep rumbling sound an Altair knew right away that it was Swami – just like he expected. Abbas would never stay on guard in front of their cell, he had Swami – the handyman of the handyman, the slave of the slave – for stuff like this and Swami was not happy at all to play the part of their nanny, but Kadar wasn’t finished yet.

"I don’t know!" The boy yelped and Altair could only guess how his face must look like. "He stopped breathing! I think he is dead!" Swami cursed once more, but Altair couldn’t understand his words – not that it would be necessary anyway – before the man shuffled into the room. He didn't seem to ask himself how Kadar managed to bang against the door when his hands were bound behind his back – or at least should be bound behind his back. Well Swami never was the brightest man wandering under the sun.

"The boss is going to kill me if he dies." _Yet_ , Altair thought. He was here to die, but not yet. First he needed to fulfill his purpose as a pawn before he was allowed to die. He heard how Swami approached him and still he held his breath, even though he couldn’t go on any longer, but right in that moment when he heard how Swami crouched down beside him there was suddenly a loud yelp of the man and Altair knew their plan worked.

Finally he could open his eyes again and gasped for breath when he looked at Swami's meaty face. His eyes were huge in shock and his hands frantically ripped on the rope around his neck, but Kadar was merciless and when Swami tried to shake him off, the teenager only flung his legs around the man's waist and climbed his back like a monkey. Altair moved quickly and grabbed the man's arms to stop him from fighting back.

Altair never thought about killing someone. He thought about revenge for his father, of course, he thought about hurting someone in an act of revenge, but he never really thought about killing someone, yet he helped Kadar strangling Swami and he found bliss in the change in color of his face, first red, then blue and he enjoyed hearing him gasping for air like a fish in the desert and he devoured even the feeling of keeping him restrained and watching the life escaping from his body. There was but a tiny part of him that was shocked about the way he felt while Swami kept up with his struggle and about the joy he felt when his eyes finally rolled back into his head and when he heard the small choking sound one last time before the man was finally dead.

The bigger part of him was shocked that he hadn’t been more disgusted and shocked about what he had done even though it wasn’t him who choked the man to death. Perhaps it simply was a part of him. Perhaps it lay in his blood. Perhaps he really was a _natural born killer_. Kadar was completely out of breath when he dropped the rope and let Swami slump down to the ground as soon as Altair released his grip on his arms again.

"Well, this worked fine." The teenager muttered and Altair grunted in response. For only a single moment his eyes caught the glistening steel of a knife, which Swami fastened between the leather belt of his jeans and the fabric. It was a rather large knife with a jagged blade like the one Altair saw in movies being used for hunting. It wasn’t the knife, which was used to cut off his finger, but it looked so similar that Altair couldn’t help but take it. He thought it couldn’t hurt to have something to defend themselves with, before he fought his way back to his feet. Kadar helped him a little until he was standing upright again, even though his knees still shook under his weight and even though the blood loss still made him feel weak, now that the adrenalin off having killed someone finally kicked in he was faster – or at least he felt like he could move faster again. He should feel horrible about the slight rush he felt when looking down on the body of one of their captors, but he didn’t. He wanted to kick him and spit on him and piss on him like he did when it had been Altair lying helplessly on the floor, either unconscious or not able to move after hours of torment, but Kadar pulled on his arm and dragged him towards the door even though his tired feet only barely moved. "I can't believe it really worked." Kadar added in awe but Altair shrugged it off.

"Told ya he's not the smartest." Altair huffed when they reached the door and stopped for just a moment. Kadar was the first to poke his head outside the door and checked if there was another guard standing nearby. There wasn’t.

"Well seems that he wasn’t the only one dumb. I can't believe this Talal-guy is so careless."

"He would never think a slave could try to bite through their chains without ruining their teeth."

The hallway was empty except small blotches of blood every here and there on the floor. His blood after those people dragged him through this very hallway only hours ago. Altair didn’t even know how much time had already passed since they’ve arrived here at this location. It felt kind of hard and awkward bringing his legs to move even though he would love to just drop down to the floor and play dead.

"Do you know where to go?" Kadar asked quietly by his side still supporting him as good as he could and there was no sign on his face that could tell that he just killed someone. As if it was only natural for him and perhaps it really was. Kadar was a very cute and good-looking guy, he had all the features that would make women go _awwww_ , but it was not wise to underestimate the teenager. He had been raised in the knowledge of one day becoming an assassin and perhaps this really was imprinted on his mind. But now that Altair had a better look at the boy, he could see that his fingers were shaking. It was his first kill - of course it was. But now - unfortunately - was not the right time to talk about such things. They needed to move.

"Yes. I think so, but I doubt we can take the same route, not when they mustn't see us." There was only one way up of which he knew and this was the staircase at the end of this very hallway. This wasn’t the warehouse and Altair had no clue what lay behind those doors along the way. He knew only the way up and right into the lion's mouth.

"You said this is a factory, right?" Kadar asked while they slowly sneaked forward. Altair didn’t like this at all. They had no cover if someone would enter the hallway from the staircase. What if Abbas would go and search for Swami or wanted to inspect the prisoners once more? They couldn’t hide fast enough in this corridor and he was in no condition to fight Abbas. Even Kadar wouldn’t have an easy way with the guy without the moment of surprise like before. They would not be able to take down Abbas without drawing attention to them. Now that they were out here he felt like they were serving themselves on a silver platter.

"Yes." He replied in a hushed whisper and with every step they took it became clearer and clearer to him that they didn’t have a plan whatsoever. Well, they hadn't had a real good plan to take down their guard either and yet Swami lay dead in his own excrements in their cell.

"Well then. A factory normally has large machines, right?"

"Yes."

"We could seek cover behind those to avoid getting caught."

"Yes." Because there really was no better way - at least Altair couldn’t think of a better idea than this. He would've loved to just run straight for the large factory doors and burst through them into freedom, but perhaps Kadar's idea was better. For now. But Kadar stopped at a door to their right and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. Same went for the other doors on their way except one. The very last door to their left right at the foot of the staircase flung open with a small creak, but there was only darkness in the room and a horrible smell as if someone had opened a sewer or a manure tank.

"Oh fuck me!" Kadar hissed when he carefully and as quiet as he could closed the door again. Only the staircase was left to them now and still Altair didn’t like the idea. He would rather swim in manure than wander through enemy's terrain without a hint of where to go or where to turn to. They could only hope the workers wouldn’t betray them. But on the other hand Altair would never blame those people, for he understood their situation and their fear. Talal would have no mercy for not a single person in this factory when he would find out that his workers, his slaves, helped him and Kadar escape.

They took the stairs with great caution and as careful as if they were balancing eggs on spoons stuck between their teeth. When they reached the top of the stairs the large metal door, which led into the factory, was already open. Perhaps Swami had left it like this and when Altair poked his head a little outside there was a brief moment where he was certain he had seen a shadow moving quickly between the machines, but it was way too dark to really tell. Even the machines weren't in use right now. It must be way past midnight for the factory lying in dead silence. Altair looked up to the overseer's office upstairs. There was no light inside so if Talal was there he was probably asleep and no trace of Abbas, but he could spot what seemed to be an open window inside the office which probably led outside to the factory's grounds. Carefully they slipped inside the darkness between the machines and then Kadar carefully pulled at his hand and pointed towards the maintenance door, which led outside, and right to the grounds of the property. There was a bright neon sign above the door, but Altair couldn’t read it from where they stood. He shook his head and whispered: "What if it's secured? What if there will be an alarm when we try to open the door?"

"We run." Kadar whispered back and if it wouldn’t be for the darkness around them he would see the grimace Altair was making at this point. Running. Yeah well, not gonna happen for Altair. There simply was no way he would manage a full sprint outside and through the property without them knowing what lay on the other side of the door. There could be dogs waiting for them or a fence they wouldn’t be able to climb.

"We take the window upstairs." He replied in a hushed voice and dragged Kadar towards the metal stairs, which led to the catwalks. The stairs were open and didn’t provide any shelter from being detected whereupon they could easily sneak around the big machines towards the door Kadar preferred.

"You can't climb outside, Altair." Kadar snorted and tried to pull him back, but Altair would not let this boy stop him.

"But you can." Altair replied, a dark scowl plastered on his face but invisible to Kadar. "If this door is secured with an alarm you won't make it fast enough through the property and since we don’t know if there really is a fence with barbwire or something or dogs to follow you and rip you apart, you need more time and quietude. You'll have plenty of time figuring out how to get away as soon as you climb through that window."

"That's not the right way to do this, Altair." Kadar snarled and for a brief moment he could see the white of his teeth when Kadar bared them at him. The red of his blood was gone from them, but now it was Altair who dragged the teenager towards the stairs.

"My way is better." It seemed from another life when he heard himself saying those words, but Kadar followed him nonetheless. The moment they left the shelter of the machine's shadow Altair felt naked and if a thousand eyes were upon him and his companion while they carefully climbed the stairs. It was only good that they weren't wearing shoes for their steps on the metal where much quieter like this even though the grids of the steps penetrated his feet. They climbed the stairs hunched to make themselves as small as possible so the shadows could swallow them whole. Altair had no clue if it really had worked or if they were already being watched by their enemies, but they reached the overseer's office in a matter of seconds, after they stepped on the catwalk. Altair always liked high places and he absolutely loved being high above everyone and everything else. As the eagle of Masyaf he had flown so high to the sun that his wings melted, but now he felt uncomfortable being so high up, but he blamed the gritty catwalk and the fact that he could easily see the ground through the grills or rather the darkness of this place. He could only imagine the invisible, dark eyes of the workers (of the slaves) or his enemies preying through the grits. They didn’t speak when they reached the door, but Altair knew that Kadar as well as he himself was praying that the door was unlocked – and it was. Perhaps some high entity felt merciful with them when it allowed them to open the overseer's office door and sneak inside soundless like two shadows.

Altair had felt it before, this odd sensation when something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong, but now, right in this very moment the feeling had never been stronger and he knew even before the first shot rang, that he had led Kadar right into the abyss of danger.

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There was a small moment, when Malik didn’t know if he should be proud of his brother or shocked, when he saw the body of the man lying on the damp concrete floor of a fully naked room. It smelled horrible of urine and death. Just a moment ago Malik and Ezio left the sewers trough a small manhole in another room located right here in the basement area of the factory. Their original plan was to check out all the rooms located at this hallway, but after they spotted the door right at the end of the hallway and the wide open door as well as the small electronic-lock on the wall next to the door they threw their original plan away and sneaked into the _cell_ Kadar and Altair had shared. When Malik spotted the open door he had known two things immediately: one was of course that this very room was in fact the place his brother and Altair had been kept inside and second of all that they weren't in their anymore. Of course for a small moment he had been afraid that they might be dead already and this was why there was no reason for locking the door, but if his brother was dead, he was sure he would have felt it. Malik never believed when people said they had felt it when their loved once died, that was until his parents had died. There is this small sting somewhere in your heart when someone you love dies and vanishes forever from the stage of life. Back then he hadn’t understood the feeling, but when Adha, his wife, died, he had known it before someone could tell him. No, Kadar was still alive somewhere in this building, he was free and he was in danger. He would’ve been much safer inside this very room.

"Well one person less to care about." Ezio snorted when he carefully kicked the point of his boot against Swami's side to turn the man on the back. His face was not to be described as peaceful or relaxed and the rope Kadar had used and which still laid beside the body of the man had cut through his skin to leave it bloody, torn and angry red. His eyes were wide open, but there was no life in them anymore and if this man wouldn’t be who he was, Malik would at least close his eyes and show him some kind of respect. But he couldn’t force himself to do it, so it was Ezio who crouched down next to the man to close his eyes with his right hand. "Requiescat in pace, Bastardo." He mumbled before he stood again and patted Malik's shoulder. "Your brother did a good job there. Not really delicate, but I guess the bastard didn’t deserve any better."

There was no doubt that Kadar had done this. Altair sure hadn’t been in the condition to murder someone with such force, because strangling someone required a lot of force and strength, after Connor's description. Still Malik had no clue if he should be proud. He was glad that his brother was able to defend himself like this if it became necessary, but he was still a kid, only seventeen years old. He shouldn’t murder anyone – yet.

"Let's go. The body is still warm, they can't be far." Malik then said and turned to the door. Aveline should already be in the factory to free the workers, perhaps she even saw Kadar and Altair already. Perhaps they were already safe. " _Aveline_ " Malik murmured into his headset even though he knew the woman as well as Arno and Connor heard what happened until now.

 _"No, I haven’t seen them yet. Perhaps they sneaked past me."_ She replied in a low whisper just a second after this. _"The machines in here are really big, no clear sight."_ So it was possible those two could’ve sneaked past her without them noticing her either.

 _"We're in. Ground floor cleared."_ Arno's vice suddenly sounded through the headset when Malik and Ezio left the cell and entered the hallway once more. Now they turned to the doors left and right to try them. Locked. All of them. No way could Kadar and Altair have searched shelter in those rooms.

"Where is Talal?" Ezio finally asked as they moved back to where they came from. Only the room through which they entered and the staircase were left to them. Only the way up -To help Aveline and searching for Altair and Kadar.

_"In his office. Connor went to get him."_

Then there was a small cry of pain through the headset and shortly after this Connor deep voice rumbling. _"It's done. Talal is dead."_

Malik wanted to do it himself. He wanted to let this man suffer for the things he had done, for the kidnapping of his brother and Altair and for all the pain he had inflicted on Altair and all those poor souls he brought to the US, perhaps it was better like this. He would have ripped this man apart, he would’ve gut him and let him bleed to death. He would’ve made him suffer and this is not what assassins do. Assassins kill swiftly and quick, silent and merciful. They don’t inflict pain and suffering no matter what kind of person their victim is. They don’t let themselves be led by emotions. They were executioners, no avengers. There is no justice in vengeance.

"Where is Abbas?" Malik groaned.

 _"Not here."_ Aveline replied quickly. _"Then again he could hide inside the overseer's office_. _"_

 _"Haven't seen him."_ Connor added.

Chances were good that he really was in the overseer's office and hid like the coward he really was. "Ezio and I will go and search for him. Connor and Arno you'll search for Kadar and Altair and-"

_BANG!_

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He expected pain but it wouldn’t come. There was only this one loud, thundering, deafening _bang_ and then another and still no pain. Still he wasn’t thrown back by the impact off the bullet exploding from the gun and ripping through his body to tear him apart. There was nothing. No pain, no force pushing him to the ground, only loud silence after the second shot and a loud beeping inside his head and ears and then the sound of a wet sac slumping down to the ground right next to him.

It took a while for him to notice that the sac in fact was Kadar's body slumping to the ground and then lying there. In the darkness he could only vaguely see his face, white with pain and shock and fear. He could barely see his suddenly very white hand moving to his belly and pressing down while blood already stained his white shirt like a rose that started to bloom all of the sudden. His fingers were shaking and his breath hitched and shallow, his blue eyes wide with horror.

There was no light turned on and perhaps it was thanks to the darkness of the factory that he hadn’t been shot too but Altair could see the ugly grimace that was Abbas's face in the faint light shining through the tinted windows from outside. His grin grew wide when he aimed once more but this time Altair jumped forward when the man was about to pull the trigger. He forgot his own injuries and agony because the only thing that really mattered now was Abbas.

Abbas and his ugly grin.

Altair didn’t bother wasting his energy to think when he jumped him and tackled him to the ground, his right shoulder digging into the body of the man in front of him. Another shot rang through the building and it was only now that he really heard the screams from downstairs, from the workers cowering between the huge machines in fear. The bullet didn’t hit him and he didn’t hear a scream of pain too, so it probably hit a wall or more likely the ceiling. It didn’t matter anyway. Abbas stumbled backwards and then fall to the floor because of Altair's weight and the force of it crashing into him. Abbas opened his mouth to yell something at him, but Altair's left fist – the one with the missing finger, the finger Abbas, this pathetic excuse for a human being lying under him took from him – already crashed into his face.

He heard the hiss of pain and the gasp of breath the man took. Abbas was good in giving but not as good in receiving pain. He was only a worm writhing underneath him and his wrath. He tried to fend him off, he pushed against Altair's shoulders when he thundered his fist once again down in his face and heard bone cracking, but he didn’t succeed. And then Altair felt his whole body grew hot again. He felt the pulsating under his skin trough his arteries, blood rushing through his ears. He could feel every little hair on his body rising and how his heartbeat grew louder and louder and louder and stronger and stronger and stronger and faster and faster and faster with every second, with every new punch, with every hitched breath he heard and every hiss of pain. He felt Abbas's tossing under him and he enjoyed once more the rush he felt when he helped Kadar in killing Swami. There was again a voice inside his head telling him it wasn’t right, cowering in fear, but Altair ignored it once again. He was weaker than Abbas. He was tired and exhausted and his body consumed with pain. His flesh was torn and his naked chest bloody, but now in this very moment when he ripped through skin and flesh and muscle and bone he was strong. He was stronger than Abbas. He was stronger than his captor and tormentor.

He wanted to say he acted like this - like a wild animal, like a beast - because of Kadar, because Kadar didn’t deserve being shot twice by a complete stranger only for his affiliation with Altair. He was only seventeen. He was a child. He had a bright future waiting for him and now he was probably bleeding to death without anyone to hold his hand and calm his traumatized mind. But this wasn’t the real reason why he was doing this.

By now Altair couldn’t tell if it was his blood on his naked skin or Abbas's and it didn’t matter anyway. The wet gurgling Abbas produced in the depths of his throat was like music - a heavenly tune - inside his tormented mind and so was the wet splashing sound when he beat down on him again and again and again. There was the memory of all those dark nights in the past year again and the horrible things which happened in the shadows. He remembered Abbas body against his, the smell of his sweat and the grunting when the humiliated him and left him where he took him so all the other slaves would see his disgrace. A part of him - a very loud and vocal part of him - wanted to do exactly the same to him, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to feel Abbas's body against his ever again. He wanted revenge. He wanted blood. He wanted screams. He wanted him dead.

Abbas's hand thrusting up and in his face came as a surprise to Altair, but the man didn’t slap him or punch him, he only tried to push him off. For a brief moment he was once again captured by pain when he felt the blood from his mouth dripping over his chin, but then he bit down, as soon as he felt the meaty fingers against his mouth. He bit so hard his jaw hurt, but the screams he drew from Abbas like this made his blood boil. Abbas's blood was warm on his face but ran cool way too fast for his liking.

"Altair!" He didn’t listen to the voice somewhere behind him. He didn’t care. He only cared for Abbas's screams and the blood even though Abbas's screams already ebbed off long ago. And then the voice came again, softer this time and a warm - an unbearable hot hand - lay down on his left shoulder. "Altair."

He knew the voice well. He liked the voice. He liked the man the voice belonged to. He dropped the knife and barely noticed that his right hand was covered in red just like his forearm. At which point did he start to use the knife? He couldn’t remember. He only remembered the gushing of the blood, the gurgling in Abbas's throat and the blood and the heat. When he turned his head slowly to the side, he could see Malik standing beside him, his face in the white light of his flashlight pale. Maybe he expected him to look down with shock or disgust at him, but he did not. Altair could not collate the expression of Malik's face with any emotion that came to his mind. Perhaps it did not matter anyway. Only for a second Altair held the contact to Malik's dark-dark eyes, which were black in this light, but, then he turned to Abbas again.

Abbas's face was a bloody unrecognizable mesh. He could barely see his nose anymore. His chest and abdomen were ripped open. A mess of blood and organs and the shreds of skin and flesh were the knife - the big knife with the jagged blade, the knife that he saw in the TV used for hunting - ripped through his body and tore him apart. He felt copper in his mouth and did not know if it was the taste of his blood or Abbas's.

 


	11. Chapter 11

It was the small _beep-beep-beeping_ sound that shook him awake. He needed a few attempts before he really managed to open his eyes fully, but when he did the clean white of the ceiling above him nearly blinded him instantly. He blinked again and again and again to get used to the white and the sudden pain that came with it, but the _beep-beep-beeping_ never stopped. When he found himself finally able to keep his eyes open he studied the ceiling for just a moment - a long moment, a moment, which could as well be as long as ten years or even longer than that - to find it sprinkled with grayish little spots marbling the small plates the ceiling was constructed out of.

He found his thoughts wandering back to the factory but no, the walls of his and Kadar's cell were not white, not as white as this ceiling or the walls he could spot without moving his head. He was not lying on the cold hard ground and it was not the warehouse either. It did not smell like the warehouse. He tried to move and after a little bit of persuasion, he managed to twitch his left foot. He could feel something soft underneath his naked heel when his foot dug deeper in it. A mattress. He was lying in a bed, was covered with a thick - a very thick - white blanket and his head rested on a soft white pillow. The world around him was pure white snow and the constant _beep-beep-beeping_ at his side.

"Talal is dead."

Altaїr wanted to turn his head, but he could not find the strength in him to really do so. The voice was more than familiar, but not the sound. The sound of the voice was strained and distant and somewhat cold, like a stranger talking to another stranger briefly on the streets. He did not like it.

"Swami is dead."

The voice continued, but Altaїr did not feel anything. Of course, his mind was slowly filling the gaps in it. It took a small while but again and again, more images of the events oozed back into his brain. He did not feel anything when he understood that Swami was dead, even though he remembered how Kadar killed him, nor when he finally understood, that Talal too was dead. He was free - but he could not understand. He had been a slave for more than one year. He had lived in fear of being found for an eternity in Malik's company and now he was free and it did not feel like it.

"Abbas is dead."

Now his left hand was twitching with a sudden jolt of pain. Abbas was dead, yes, that was something he already knew. He had killed him himself and this was more important than killing Talal or Swami or really anyone else. Abbas was dead. He had felt his blood gushing out of his wounds and staining his own skin. He had heard him scream and gurgle and whimper. He had heard him die and he had never felt more alive.

"What's with Kadar?" His own mouth asked without his doing and he remembered Kadar lying on the catwalk, his blood dripping through the grills down-down-down to the concrete ground of the factory. He had been shot. Twice. Because of him. Malik had lost his arm. Because of him. Kadar was dead. Because of him. _My way is better_ he had said and now Kadar was dead. And there was no way of turning back time or bringing him back. He had been a child, a teenager, his life had been promising, and now he was dead.

Malik did not answer, but Altaїr felt thick, hard drops running down the sides of his face, hot and burning on his skin. "I'm sorry." He choked. "I'm so sorry." He remembered seeing Kadar laying there, his hands gripping on his wound, the blood gushing out of his stomach, black as the night, black as death. He did not dare to move his head when he heard the scraping sound of a metal chair being dragged over what sounded like tiles. For now, Altaїr was pretty sure to be in a hospital of sorts, but he did not care so much. All he cared for was forgiveness from Malik although he already knew he would not get it. There was no way to forgive a man who was at fault for the death of one's little brother.

He not even dared to look when he listened how Malik took his leave. He listened to the steps of the man distancing himself from Altaїr and shortly after a door being opened and then closed. He was alone, only he and his misery and the constant _beep-beep-beeping_.

All he wanted to do was to curl himself into a small little ball and cry to his heart's delight, cry like a baby until his grief would vanish until his mind would settle until he would get used to the truth that he had killed Kadar. He had not shot him himself, but he could as well have pulled the trigger himself. And now there was nothing that could bring this boy back – or Malik's arm. No matter where he went or turned to, a dark cloud always followed him it seemed.

It could as well have been ages when the door opened again, but all Altaїr heard was the constant _beep-beep-beeping_ next to him and all he could see was the white and gray ceiling above him.

"What is he crying about?" Kadar's snickering voice suddenly sounded in the world outside his head and Altaїr's head turned in shock towards it. He stood by the open door and slowly but casually walked closer, his hand clamped around an IV pole and dressed in a fashionable white shirt and pants, his feet naked on the probably cold tiles. The moment Altaїr shot up to sit up straight was the moment he regretted his actions most. He felt dizzy and found his body spasm in a sudden jolt of pain, so he slumped back, but left his head turned on the side facing the door.

Kadar looked pale and a little bit tired, but otherwise okay and his sheepish grin only made it clearer that he thought this whole situation was a really funny joke. He did not manage to open his mouth to speak again, instead, Kadar did as he slowly walked closer, dragging his lazily dripping IV and pole with him. "You were pretty much knocked out for a few days straight, buddy." Kadar grinned and finally sat down beside his bed on the chair Malik occupied before. "You've got yourself a nasty infection there." Kadar pointed towards his left hand and only then, Altaїr looked down on the bandaged hand. He could see that even more of his left ring finger was missing now – it was not there anymore in fact, beneath the bandages was only an inch long stump. A small price to pay for Kadar's life it seemed. "Thanks to the doctors you was able to keep your hand after the infection spread, but let me tell you: you didn’t look too hot those past days. They even need to tranquilize you to even get you here."

"You live." Altaїr finally croaked and Kadar chuckled.

"Of course I live. This Abbas-guy was not as good a shot as he thought I guess. Hit me right in the shoulder."

"You almost lost a kidney because of him." Malik's voice boomed as the man entered the room once again and closed the door behind him, but Kadar only made a small grimace.

"Almost." The younger Al-Sayf replied and then leaned forward a bit, his face crunching into an even sourer grimace. "My brother just jumped from room to room during those past days. It would be really nice if you would tell him to go and take a shower already – or at least shave. I'm surprised his smell didn’t wake you up."

And only then, Altaїr found the muse to look at the man he only heard before. Malik looked terrible and he himself probably did not look too hot either – when he rubbed his face he could feel the growing beard that needed to be shaved A.S.A.P – but Malik seemed as if he had not taken care of himself at all since they were here. He wore completely black clothes; the same Ezio wore back then, when he came to the house to grab him, black pants and a tightly fitted jacket with a black pointed hood, even though he had not pulled it up now. He looked tired and had dark circles – nearly as black as his clothes and the heavy boots he wore – under his eyes. Perhaps he had not even slept since Kadar and he were in the hospital. His face was pale and his neatly trimmed goatee was not neatly trimmed at all anymore, his jaw rough with stubbles and his black hair unkempt and tousled from fingers ruffling through it again and again.

And he stunk. He really did, when he finally stepped closer into the room, but Altaїr did not mind. He stunk like sweat and … well … he stunk a little bit as if he had crawled through the sewer system underneath Boston. When their eyes finally locked, after Malik had not really looked at him at all but rather down on the ground, Altaїr found himself not able to really tell what his eyes were saying. They seemed dull and dark and he kept his distance with standing behind Kadar's chair. A protective gesture. A gesture that told Altaїr loud and clear that he was not welcome in his life or his home or his brother and son's lives and home anymore.

"You really need a shower, Malik. You stink." He finally managed to say, his voice still hoarse and heavy and with that, he managed to cast a little grin on Malik's face when the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"You too."

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Malik's fingers were gentle when they brushed over the geometrical design engraved in Altaїr's left hip. The Insignia of the assassins suited him well, almost as if he was born with it – and yet Altaїr had cried like a little baby when it had been engraved into his skin. He was not fond of needles- at least that was what he came up with afterward. "When is Tazim coming home?" Altaїr mumbled drowsily but snuggled a little bit closer, his left leg still entangled in the white bedsheet. He enjoyed being so close to Malik, lying against his chest while he was trying to read a report and Malik enjoyed having him that close. Even though he never got the chance to read really anything with Altaїr by his side. Last time he tried to read something in close proximity to him this very day, they ended up naked. Well, at least clothes should not be a problem anymore.

"In two hours." Malik chuckled because he knew exactly that Altaїr already knew this by heart. After all, most times it was him who would go and pick the boy up and enjoyed spending time outside on the playground with Malik's son. Today Tazim was invited to the Miles' house and would be dropped off by Bill and that was why Altaїr lifted his left hand over his head and stole away the papers from Malik's fingers.

"Well then, sounds we have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves then, right?" Malik groaned, but it took him only half a second to grab Altaїr by the shoulders and to throw him down on the mattress again. He hovered over him, his eyes dark and gloomy and his glasses dangerously low on his nose.

"You know very well, that I need to finish this report or do you want Bill to rip me apart?" – Again. Perhaps Altaїr really was a bad influence for Malik, but now he only grinned sheepishly and grabbed his glasses to pull them off – to steal them like a magpie, like he did before with the report Malik so desperately needed to read so he could discuss it with Bill –their new grandmaster – tomorrow. The boy was merciless. He would rather have Bill groaning with barred teeth at Malik and laughing his little ass off than letting Malik neglect him.

"You can read this thing when I am satisfied." He grinned and they both pretty much knew that Altaїr was hard to satisfy and yet Malik liked it. No, he loved it. He loved this lopsided smirk, the full-teeth-grin or the little cackling, the little laughter every now and then. He was free. Finally free.

Most of their trysts were rushed and hard and quick for the child being around constantly in the house or the many other things they needed to concentrate on, but now, in this instant, Malik meant to take his time, no matter the duty of reading this damned report. Leaning down he kissed his way down the path of sensitive skin of Altaїr's throat, grazing the perfect curve of his collarbone with his teeth. He loved the low growl Altaїr produced and how his back was arching ever so gently as Malik's mouth continued down-down-down his body, his tongue, and lips, and teeth devouring every valley and every rising of the muscles of his abdomen and his perfect chest. His lips grazed over scars, some fresh, some old but he tended to every little one of them, searching for new bruises on Altaїr's lanky body and found none, only shadows of the past nightmare in his mind.

Lower and lower his mouth went and he enjoyed feeling and hearing Altaїr holding his breath in anticipation of Malik's tongue – his best friend's, his lover's, his brother's in arms tongue – moving to where he really wanted it – only so he could jerk in surprise and mutter a sweet little curse in his mother tongue which they so much loved to share when they were alone, as a teasing nip was delivered to his inner thigh. Malik could not help it. He loved how Altaїr's long legs felt and how they tasted. His right hand already forcefully gripped his right thigh to lift the beautifully shaped leg above his own naked shoulder and when he moved closer to the body so openly welcoming him he could feel how Altaїr's heel dug into his shoulder blade to draw him closer-closer-closer to lure him into pleasure, instead Malik bit down into the tender flesh of his inner thigh once more.

"Malik-" He tried to protest, but the deep moan escaping his scarred lips stopped him instantly, engulfed in the feeling of the open-mouthed, sloppy kisses, which Malik used to cover the pale, yet sun-kissed skin of the half Syrian man. " _Please_ -" Altaїr tried once more only to gasp loudly, his head falling back into Malik's pillow as his lover's mouth finally engulfed his aching arousal, silken heat, and licentious pleasure. He could feel Altaїr fight to hold still, to control his revolting body, but he could also feel how his efforts became an increasingly difficult struggle against his own inner demons as Malik slyly applied his tongue along the ridge of his cock, following it with the slightest, the gentlest, the most careful scraping of teeth over silk.

It became quite obvious that Altaїr couldn’t resist bucking into his mouth, one hand – his left hand, the one with the missing finger – reaching down to tangle his four long fingers in Malik's short, pure black hair and pull it roughly, causing Malik to growl deep in his throat, but neither loosened Altaїr his grip, nor did he let him go, but when Malik glanced up a little he devoured the sight of him biting his bottom lip only to contain his moans as he finally gave up and decided to let the sensations consume him. Malik had no clue where his glasses had gone, but it did not matter. It did not matter too that Altaїr was lying half on the report or that he could hear the paper sizzling. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of the pressure building rapidly inside Altaїr, winding tighter and tighter and tighter, his fingers clutching Malik's hair harder in a silent warning of what was soon to come.

Malik understood and Altaїr did not need to spell it out for him, but he continued his wicked machinations of his mouth anyway, until he heard that lovely breathless cry, he loved so much and yearned for so much in silent and lone hours inside the office, when Altaїr finally came, his spine suddenly curving upwards in his release.

Malik sat up; licking his lips absently to not waste a single drop of what Altaїr had offered him after he swallowed thickly. He was still painfully aroused himself when he crawled back up to kiss the man lying exhausted underneath him, but the moment his sneaky fingers tried to steal back the papers from underneath his lover's cute ass and distract him with his full mouthed kiss, Altaїr groaned and pushed him back almost violently.

Malik was the one who trained him most of the time and yet he was surprised once again over the power Altaїr possessed. It was no secret he often envied the young man – this perfect young man with his perfect _two_ arms and the strength he could build with those two arms unlike Malik, but then he would see the glistening of those amber eyes and the way Altaїr would watch him and analyze his every movement to _learn_ from him – from a cripple – and the envy would melt almost instantly.

Malik had no chance to get up fast enough after he landed on his back and almost hit his head on the edge of the nightstand until Altaїr was on top of him. "Let me take care of you." Altaїr commanded again with this smug yet playful little grin of his plastered on his face, even though he still was a bit breathless from his recent orgasm – not that it would be the first today.

Malik could not help but grin and bite his bottom lip when he crossed his right arm behind his head, feeling the hot groin of the younger male brushing over his own stone hard cock when Altaїr reached out for the nightstand and the oil still standing there from previous activities. The paper rustled louder and angrier under Altaїr's feet when his long toes dug into the poor, innocent report. His moan was husky with suppressed desire, when he watched Altaїr preparing himself with the oil they kept next to their bed (hidden most times, so nosy children wouldn’t find it), his own slick fingers disappearing intriguing again and again until he was satisfied. He didn’t do it because he really needed to, after all, they had had sex not even half an hour ago, he only did it to drive Malik mad, to make him moan and writher in pleasure without even touching him. Oh, that little bastard knew exactly what he was doing and that Malik was watching his skilled fingers preparing himself, working him open for him. Altaїr liked to tease him, liked to shudder in _fear_ for his big, enormous cock only to entice him. Yet Malik was unable to look away, even more so when Altaїr finally sank down onto Malik's impatiently waiting cock with a satisfied grunt, his eyes fluttering shut.

Malik rocked his own hips to meet him, his hands settling on Altaїr's waist to steady him as he took his cock deeper and deeper inside him. it was quite hard not to use too much pressure with his false hand, with this perfect machine attached to his body, so he wouldn’t bruise him (again), but it was almost impossible to concentrate on this little detail, especially when Altaїr then decided he was comfortable enough and started to ride him, panting as he enjoyed the sweet pain and the little burn of Malik's thick cock plunging into him, ripping him open and filling him to his desire.

Their hips rolled together, synchronized in mutual pleasure. Altaїr's short nails dug into the flesh of Malik's flat stomach, into his muscles while he steadied himself to fasten his pace, moaning as if the last time he had had sex laid back ages. It wasn’t long until Malik couldn’t stand it anymore, the sensation of Altaїr's body welcoming his, the sight of Altaїr's naked body on top of him, his skin glistening with little drops of sweat – close enough that Malik could easily count each and every little one of them – the sound of those deep immoral moans coming from the deep of Altaїr's throat, and when he finally lost it and came deeply engulfed inside his lover Altaїr continued to ride him through his orgasm, as he was being filled with Malik's release, some of it lazily dripping down those beautiful thighs.

"Look what you've done…" Malik finally huffed when Altaїr slumped forward, nuzzling his nose against his sweaty, hot, moist neck, but Altaїr didn’t even bother turning his head the way Malik pointed lazily with his right hand. "The report is completely ruined. Bill will literally kill me. I hope you are satisfied now."

But Altaїr only gave a small kick to where he seemed to think the report was lying and chuckled against the hot skin. "Yeah. Completely worth it."

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"Oh Jesus Christ, what did you guys do the whole day?" Kadar groaned when he stepped into the not so very tidy kitchen, where Altaїr sat at the table with Tazim and Malik shoving his head into the oven. There were still pans and pots standing around from the prior day in the sink, still, Kadar's bowl for his breakfast cereal dirty on the kitchen counter and the report Malik began to read this morning was a bunch of ripped and crumpled paper lying on the far end of the table.

"Daddy said they were sick." Tazim chirped when he turned his head towards the door, right before he went back to the most important work of coloring a tree in his coloring book with Altair's help (who was not really much of a help at all).

"Yeah right, sick." Kadar rolled his eyes, but Malik did not even have the decency to blush the slightest bit when he turned to grab some plates for the pizza was ready to be devoured.

"Yes sick." Altaїr replied in not so perfect English, even though it really improved during those last months. "We needed to stay in bed the whole day." That was at least ten minutes prior to Bill Miles dropping off little Tazim after Kindergarten.

"You poor bastards." Kadar muffled before he sat down heavily at the table waiting to be fed after a long and exhausting day in school. It was much later this day when there was silence in the house once more and the night was black outside the windows of the bedroom when Malik dragged Altaїr closer to his chest. The younger man was not asleep at all and Malik knew that pretty well, but at least he tried to fake it and Malik would let him, as long as this meant he would manage to finally read this god damned report.

Kadar had gone to bed over an hour ago, exhausted from the stress the last weeks of school brought with them and Tazim fell into a coma right after his bath. Altaїr, on the other hand, closed his eyes only moments ago and used his faked sleep to nuzzle as close as humanly possible. There was no way Malik could manage to concentrate on the report. Not with Altaїr so close by his chest. He could feel his slow and even breath at his warm neck after he closed his right arm around his shoulders and held the report with his left to read. For now, he had read one and the same sentence over and over again and was not at all able to understand anything at all it was saying.

The report was not exactly all that necessary. It did not tell them where Al Mualim – where Rashid - had fled to, only hints and speculations of their contacts around the world. The best chances would be Syria if it would be Malik to decide, but nobody had seen him or heard from him after the former Mentor had fled the country that night while Malik and the others crawled through stinking sewers. They should have known he would flee as soon as he would learn about his fellow assassins investigating.

A few days ago, Arno had sent an E-Mail from Paris that some of the recruits thought to have seen Rashid and that he would investigate the trail himself, but Malik did not think it was of much worth really. Ezio had traveled to Italy for the very same cause over a month ago, even though he promised to never set foot again in this country. If it would not be for his brother and his son Malik would have volunteered to travel to Syria to investigate, but then again there was this little gnawing fear somewhere in his mind. After all, he had been wounded in Syria, he had lost his arm there, and he had nearly lost his life there.

Perhaps now was not the right time and no matter how much he wanted to find the traitor so he could be punished, perhaps they should be more patient. When the time would be right, they would hear about him and then they would get the chance to find him and trial him. Altaїr nuzzled closer, his stupid nose sniffing a little on Malik's freshly showered neck and his breath tingled over his sensitive skin. It seemed now he did not just fake being asleep, so Malik finally gave up on the torn report and laid it down, only to drag his fingers through Altaїr's short hair and over the slightly shaved sides of his head. At first, he had not liked this new look of his boyfriend after Altaїr nagged Connor about his hair for days on end, but now he had grown quite fond of it.

For a long moment, Malik simply remained in silent, only brushing his fingers through the short hair and grazing his thumb ever so slightly over the thick scar tissue on the back of his head. Back then, he had been afraid to lose his brother. Finding Kadar in a puddle of his own blood was probably the worst he ever experienced, but when he noticed that his brother would live he could not help but tend to Altaїr, to stop him from ripping Abbas further apart.

It was not only Kadar he had been afraid to lose, but after all that, it seemed almost as if Altaїr was way too stubborn to die so easily. His skull had been fractured twice, some of his ribs broken, his finger amputated and his hand badly infected, his face ripped open his insides bleeding from the massive trauma of him being beaten to a bloody pulp and yet he was alive and well. But the scars on the back of his lover's head would always remind Malik on the night he almost lost him and his brother.

Just when Malik wanted to turn to the report again, the door of the bedroom opened a little and his son shoved his head into the room, his trusty teddy clenched against his chest. He did not exactly look like he had had a nightmare, yet Malik threw the report with a sigh to the ground and took off his glasses to place them on his nightstand. With his right hand, he waved at his little son and Tazim entered the room with a little grin, before he closed the door again and hurried towards the large bed only so he could occupy his father's left side. "Bad dream?" Malik murmured when he placed a kiss on the crown of his son's head, but Tazim shook his head.

"No … Just wanted to be with you."

With this, it seemed he would not be able to discuss the report with Bill the next day after he generously granted him a whole day to read it. Well … it was worth it.

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The sky was dark, the night hung low and black like ink over Masyaf and swallowed the old fortress, as well as the small village at its foot but the moon, was glistening and its light was dancing on the windows of the only taller building in the small village – a simple greenhouse. The village of Masyaf was silent and the windows of the little houses dark and empty like dead eyes staring into the night. There was no one around to see the two shadows creeping through the small village and not a single soul cared for them when they slowly crept up the hill.

The fortress of Masyaf was nothing but a snow covered ruin, but the path to reach it long and exhausting for the untrained. "How do you know he's there?" One of the shadows asked its voice not louder than the whispering of the wind, even though he did not need to be cautious, for the cliffs on the side of the path swallowed his voice anyway. There were no footsteps visible in the snow, only theirs, when he looked over his shoulder and against the snow, they were just two black figures easily to spot from high above, even in this jet-black night.

"I know it." Altaїr replied finally even quieter and in the faint moonlight, Malik could see the determination on his face. "I just know it."

And this was the only thing they could count on, only Altaїr's instinct, only his _stomach_ that told him that Rashid was here after he fled from Boston that night. And it was Altaїr who decided they would start right here in Masyaf when William Bill Miles informed them a week ago, that they finally found traces of Rashid in Syria. He remembered the impression on Altaїr's face when they learned about Rashid being in Syria vividly. He had been terrified. He had been terrified even during their flight together into the country he fled from years ago. But yet he was here.

Malik would probably never forget that night when they walked through the dirty and stinking sewer system underneath Boston to find his baby brother and Altaїr in this devious factory. The imagery of his little brother lying in a pool of his own blood would never vanish from his mind, even now, so many months later it was still burnt into the space behind his eyes every time he closed them. And so was the imagery of Altaїr kneeling over the lifeless body of a man he could only assume to be Abbas after the damage Altaїr had done to his face. He remembered this very moment as clear as the one moment he had held his son for the very first time, the pain of the loss of his wife and his arm still numbing his whole body. He had felt numb too in this night when he slowly dragged Altaїr to the feet and away from Abbas and he remembered how confused he was that Altaїr could even walk, that was until they walked a few steps before Altaїr first slumped against his side and then to the ground.

The days and weeks afterward were not pretty, but they survived. Kadar survived. Altaїr survived. The brotherhood survived.

"My father always told me about Masyaf, the fortress towering over the village like a majestic eagle." Malik mumbled even though he did not really felt like it. He had no active memory of Syria at all. He knew he was three years old when they left, but he could not really remember. What he did remember were his father's stories about this place and his training behind thick stone walls. And he remembered one night twenty-six years ago, a snowy and stormy night in the US, when he could not sleep and entered his father's office to seek a little comfort and maybe something to play with or something sweet - because his father always hid chocolate in the upper drawer of his desk. Instead, he had found his father on the computer talking to someone via video chat, _skyping_ how it was called today. He had not had a reason to think about that particular night during the past years, that was until he met Altaїr or to be more precise until he found him bloody on top of Abbas. His father's words had never been clearer in his mind. _"That's Altaїr"_ He had said and pointed towards the monitor and the infant in the arms of the man he talked to so much and whose name Malik never managed to remember. _"Someday you'll meet him and since he is littler than you, you will need to protect him, right?"_

Altaїr - _his_ Altaїr - did not need his protection. But still, the memory of his father saying those words had made him smile every time since he remembered them. This is Altaїr and you will meet him one day. This was typical for his father always foretelling the future, even though this was not the future their fathers imagined. They never imagined their boys walking up the tedious and loopy path up to the fortress and Malik felt unsafe out here - haunted, he might say.

"But now it's nothing but ruins." Altaїr replied quietly with a hint of sorrow somewhere down in his mind.

"Have you been here before?"

"A few times. My grandmother used to live down there and when I lived with her, I often wandered off and visited the fortress. My grandmother was furious every time she found me there, but I really liked it. I would hide up there, even when I was older and started my blog and all this. You have an amazing view up there."

"So that’s where the eagle of Masyaf had his nest." Was there a little smile on Altaїr's face in the faint light of the moon hovering over them? The air around them was chilly and foreshadowed the upcoming storm that would soon hit the small Village of Masyaf. When they reached the end of the path they stopped and stood in silence for just one moment to devour the sight in front of them. The fortress might be in ruins now, but still, Malik could at least imagine the majestic building that it had been so long ago. For a moment he could almost see the people running around on the courtyard. For a moment, he could almost hear wooden blades slamming against each other and the groaning of the tired novices. This was the place his father lived. This was the place where he learned and became the man Malik used to know.

It felt as if he too had been here himself a long time ago, maybe even in a different life. When he turned his head to look at Altaїr he almost expected him to wear white robes, his hood with the eagle beak pulled deep into his face, instead, he stared back at him a small smirk on his face. "It's odd, isn't it?"

"It's dangerous." Malik huffed and followed the little white cloud escaping his lips with his eyes. "We don’t have any hiding spot as soon as we enter the courtyard. He could have hired someone to protect him."

"He hasn’t."

"What makes you so sure about this?"

"Call it a hunch."

By now, Malik knew those _hunches_ of Altaїr. It had been a _hunch_ when his baby brother had been shot twice because Altaїr wanted to climb out a window instead of using the door. Well if it had not been for Abbas it would have been a good plan. He wanted to protest, but since there was no other way than sneaking quietly and directly across the courtyard for the state of the walls around, he nodded. "I trust you, novice."

"I feel honored old man." Altaїr grinned and then he stepped inside the yard and again Malik felt like he had seen this before. He had seen this man entering the courtyard his chin held up high, his shoulders firm and his back straight and he had heard people greeting him before with joy and respect. The echoes of the past were strong in these ruins, but then he followed him and together they crept across the yard and towards the large gateway inside the building. It was a miracle how intact this part of the fortress still was. Only the large window in the shape of a mandala with colorful glass was nearly destroyed high above. His father had shown him pictures of this very place when he was still a child and he had absolutely loved those. He always wanted to visit the famous fortress with his dad and now he was here with the child of his dad's best friend.

Altaїr moved with all the grace of a cat when he crept across the yard and climbed over rubble every here and there and with all the experience his little adventures years ago at this location gave him. He knew exactly where to turn to or where to set his foot and Malik felt the sting of jealousy watching him and seeing how good, he had become during those months of training and how well he and his instincts worked together. Altaїr trusted his guts and Malik knew that feeling. It was important for their job but it would not protect them from death or serious injuries or the loss of a limb.

The air inside the entrance hall was stuffy and filled with dust and on the same instant, the cold wind was blowing through the cracks in the walls and the wide open entrance. The big staircase in the entrance hall was demolished badly but still usable if someone was able to climb and jump like they did. Altaїr led the way and Malik did not even bother questioning him. If Altaїr trusted this hunch of his, who was Malik to question his instincts? He did not feel like they were being watched by invisible eyes in the dark all around them. They were alone. Al Mualim probably was not here too, but at least they would not have lost anything with not confronting him here and now. They would search again until they would have found him to punish him. The traitor was to be brought back to Boston to be trialed and judged by the brotherhood and not until then he was to be killed.

There was nothing left of the large garden area his father showed to him years ago when they reached the top of the staircase and the open balcony leading towards what had been the gardens. Now the doorway led straight to death and the crushing embrace of cliffs and icy water.

Altaїr walked farther up, a few steps to his left to walk around the big hole in the middle of the upstairs area, which once was surrounded by a beautiful stone balustrade, which was now gone, broken into pieces, which had crashed down on the demolished staircase. Old wooden bookshelves were lying scattered all over the place, busted into tiny, tiny parts of wood but no books. No, the brotherhood had taken care of those long ago. For a brief moment, Malik thought about the famous tomb underneath Masyaf. The legend said deep underneath the fortress of Masyaf there rested the corpse of one of their greatest leaders in history, the man who led the brotherhood to new heights and spread their influence to the rest of the world. Now he still sat down there, resting and guarding the fortress and all his fellow brothers walking those grounds.

Perhaps it was him who Malik felt since they entered Masyaf. Perhaps it was the Mentor guarding and guiding them. And Malik wondered if his tomb was still intact.

When Altaїr suddenly stopped Malik nearly bumped into him but stopped himself fast enough to spare himself from this embarrassment. An assassin bumping into another assassin - ridiculous. But when he finally looked past him, he saw why he stopped. Right in front of the broken window where the large oak desk of the mentor still stood there was a figure sitting in an even larger arm chair. His white beard was longer now than Malik recalled when he had last seen the man he had known as Al Mualim, as the wise man of the mountain, as his Mentor. Even in the faint light of the moon illuminating the scene through the holes and cracks in the ceiling his skin looked gray and his face haggard. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open but even from afar, Malik could tell he was not breathing and the large black stain on the front of his clothes and the large cut on his throat told him why.

Altaїr stayed where he was, but Malik finally stepped over one of the shelves and slowly made his way towards the old man. It was his duty to at least check if he really was dead, so he did. He shoved away the things that were on his mind, the years he spent with this man in Boston learning from him, being guarded by him. This man gave him his new arm and a chance of an almost normal life after his injury and the death of his wife. Al Mualim had given him hope and a new purpose, a new mission other than being a good father for his only child and a good brother for his only sibling. He had made it possible for the Al-Sayf's to keep being members of the brotherhood so they wouldn’t need to live on the streets. It was thanks to this man he was now standing here and thanks to this man, he met Altaїr and fulfilled his father's wish.

When he finally reached the oak table and stroked the old dusty wood with his fingertips, he suddenly remembered the day his parents died. Almost fifteen years ago. He remembered being woken up by a loud noise downstairs and his mother calling out for his father but when he ran downstairs he noticed that his mother wasn’t in need of help, but that it was her trying to calm his father down. He remembered the phone lying on the ground next to where his father was slouched down on the ground sobbing like a small child in the arms of his wife and he remembered him repeating something over and over again. Something that sounded a lot like _he promised to come_ to him back then. It had been this very day that his parents died in their car and today he knew that they had been on their way to the airport, on their way to Syria. On their way to get the boy, which Malik should one day meet. It had been Al Mualim who comforted him back then. Only sixteen years old, an orphan and the head of his little family of two.

Umar had died on that faithful day and his father had followed him. He could've been angry with Altaїr after he learned this truth that his parents died on their way to bring him home with them but he wasn’t. It wasn’t Altaїr's fault or his. But at least now, they were finally where they should be.

With his right hand, he grabbed Rashid's right wrist and felt for the pulse, but there were nothing, only blood stained clothes and a gashing wound on his throat. There was no knife lying around, but the former mentor still wore the hidden blade on his left arm. "Rest in peace." Malik murmured finally and laid his hand for a final goodbye on the man's shoulder.

When they left the fortress of Masyaf again on the same way they entered it Malik felt as if he had lost a ton of weight from his shoulders. Months had passed in search for this man to bring him and the brotherhood to justice. And now Rashid had sentenced himself to death and this chapter was finally over. They could move on now, with a new mentor and a new life in front of them.

"Seems your hunch was right." Malik mumbled when they stepped through the gate and onto the twisted path again.

"Of course it was." Altaїr grinned, but then grabbed Malik's right hand with his left. Malik felt the gap between his pinky and middle finger and it was still weird, but it was still Altaїr and his heart was able to settle when he was around. Altaїr dragged him down the path but Malik stopped once more and enjoyed the moment when Altaїr lost his balance on the slippery ground and fell flat and not so very graceful on his ass. Malik's laughter echoed from the cliffs and the snow and the fortress itself.

"Why did you stop, you idiot?" Altaїr moaned, but Malik only dragged him to his feet again and didn’t answer.

Malik would never tell him, this man, his best friend, his lover and his brother in arms, that for a short moment, when he glanced back over his shoulder, he had seen a figure dressed in white on top of the highest tower of the fortress looking down on them and the village and Masyaf, his robes swaying ever so slightly in the cold and harsh wind. Above them, he heard the screech of an eagle, but he couldn’t see the bird, only heard its screech and the flapping of its large wings somewhere in the dark winter sky. One year had passed since he met Altaїr and when they walked on, Altaїr still rambling about his behavior before, Malik only shortly looked at his watch and the small display, which told the date. It was five minutes past midnight on the 11th of January.

"Seems like the eagle of Masyaf finally gone home."

 

 

-END-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading to the bitter end. I hope you enjoyed this story and I hope I made up for the lack of smut now XD


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